Telekinetic
by Manny PenPen
Summary: After a seemingly run-of-the-mill case, the STN-J finds itself dealing with far more than it bargained for. Why have all the recent Witches had the same Craft? And what does Sakaki have to do with it? Mid-series; discontinued.
1. Chapter 1: Shadowplay

**Disclaimer: I do not own Witch Hunter Robin or any of the characters/setting from that anime; they belong to Bandai, Sunrise, and eventually Sci Fic Channel, apparently. The plot and actual prose, however, do belong to me, so no copy plzkthnx. I make no money off this; in fact, I'm a poor student so I make very little money anyway. A lawsuit would be bad and make my face look like this. :(**  
  
======  
  
_Three hundred and twenty years have passed  
  
Since the Coven sank in the dark.  
  
Sunset.  
  
A fractured rendezvous.  
  
The fall of fire.  
  
Awakening power seeks the name of great warmth._  
  
**Chapter 1: Shadowplay**  
  
The shadows were deeper at twilight, she realized. In the blood-red rays of the setting sun, they seemed to stretch on endlessly, their dark depths penetrating so far that she could not see more than a few feet inside the deserted factory. Was this where they were hunting tonight? Was this the place where yet another Witch would meet his destiny? Robin Sena, the newest member of the STN-J, stood and stared as her smooth black skirts billowed about her feet.  
  
Standing just a few feet to her left, Amon tapped on his headpiece to send a call to Michael. "What's our status?" Even he seemed overshadowed by the twilight; the sunset had left deep clefts of darkness in the folds of his trenchcoat.  
  
"Sakaki and Karasuma are already at the back entrance." Michael's voice crackled too loudly over her headpiece, causing the red-headed Craft-user to wince slightly. "I haven't heard anything from Doujima yet. Amon, has she contacted you?"  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Robin saw Amon's lips part as he moved to speak, but instead was forced to wince again as Sakaki's voice interrupted him. "Why is she always slacking off like this? Doesn't she know this is serious?"  
  
"She's not coming tonight," came Amon's smooth voice; he had completely ignored Sakaki's interjection. It was rather odd to hear him both normally and through the headpiece, as it added an eerie echoing quality to his calm timbre. "I got a call from her on the way over here."  
  
"Dammit! Why can't she--"  
  
This time, it was Sakaki's turn to get interrupted. Karasuma, Robin was relieved to hear, spoke in far softer tones that didn't overload the speaker in her ear. "Calm down, Sakaki. We can handle this just fine. Michael, do you have a definite file on his powers yet?"  
  
"Not yet." If Robin strained her ears, she could swear she could hear the distant sounds of typing coming through her headpiece. "His relatives had magnetism, electricity, and. . .telekinesis, apparently. They were all distant relatives though. At least three or four degrees away."  
  
"So that doesn't give us much, does it." Robin's own voice was the merest breath of sound in her ears. Despite her voiced concern, Robin felt oddly at peace. If she looked out of the corner of her eye, she could see the flame-red color of the sky just beginning to fade into the deeper blacks and purples of the night. At least then the shadows would be shorter. She felt awkward standing in shadows so much bigger than herself.  
  
Beside her, Amon was slowly opening the door to the factory, sliding his lithe form through the door centimeter by paranoid centimeter. "We'll just have to be careful. Sakaki, Karasuma. We're entering the factory now." Even as he spoke these words, the black-haired leader tilted his head back towards her and spoke one simple word: "Robin."  
  
Robin stared up into Amon's cool gray eyes. Was he chiding her for staying behind? Or was he asking her to come along as a partner? Either way, his one word could only have one answer from the young flame-Crafter. She nodded.  
  
With that, both of them took halting steps into the abandoned factory. Here, where there were no windows and few functioning lights, their surroundings became a maze of dim and hazy shapes. Only by the light of an eerie, pulsing field in the middle of the factory could they see anything at all--a clearing in the center, rows of derelict machinery, and a few thin catwalks that looped around the perimeter. Michael, too, seemed to have gotten a visual on the factory. "Watch out for those catwalks. Their supports are rotted out according to the latest report on this place. I wouldn't be climbing them, Sakaki."  
  
This prompted an irritated sigh from said Hunter. "What makes you think I'm gonna climb them? Doujima's the idiot, not--"  
  
"Anything else?" Amon's quick response cut off any further bickering between the two teenagers.  
  
"Not that I can see, no."  
  
"Alright." Was it just her, or did the connections seem to be wavering somewhat? Both Sakaki's and Michael's voices had been far too loud just outside the factory, but now that they were within, she had to strain to hear them. "Everyone assume positions. Our target is probably somewhere near that light." With that, he glided towards one pillar, his soft black boots making only the slightest of noises in the dark. As she followed her leader, Robin felt all the hairs pricking up on the back of her neck as if some heavy field were in the air. A glance towards the light showed no movement, but if she looked farther up ahead--  
  
THUD.  
  
"Miss Karasuma!"  
  
Just at the edge of the lighted clearing, Karasuma's body slumped forward, a thin trail of blood throbbing from one temple. Sakaki was at her side in the next instant; his pale brown hair seemed a lurid green in the strange light of the factory. "I. . .something. . .couldn't. . ." The rookie's words were almost completely decimated by static, rendering whatever he was trying to say completely unintelligible. Amon too seemed to be having trouble; his hand had moved up to bang against the headpiece in an attempt to get it to work.  
  
A loud crackle in the headpiece made Robin jump, and she recognized Michael's voice amidst the buzz of static. "Guys, I got his power. It's-- "  
  
Whatever Michael had to say next was cut off as Robin felt the earpiece being yanked physically from her head. As she jerked her head to see what was pulling on her, the entire thing flew off her head and entangled itself in one side of her hair. Even her pendant was floating up in front of her, the metal in it drawn inexorably towards a small, feeble looking man now standing in the middle of the light. Her brilliant green eyes widened-- this was their Witch!  
  
Even as she thought those words, a second shockwave seemed to ripple through the factory, picking up a horde of metal cans that began to form a small but swiftly spinning ring. To her right, Amon fired off a bullet, but the Orbo only seemed to bounce off the virtual force field of cans. The black-haired leader continued to struggle for a moment before his entire Orbo gun was wrenched out of his hands. Behind the Witch, Sakaki was moving as well, although he had now hunched beneath a catwalk to clutch at the headpiece that threatened to leave his head entirely.  
  
"Robin. Use your--" Amon's words, which sounded tinny and faint from the headpiece still caught on her hair, cut off as the leader's microphone also flew to join its metal compatriots; still, it didn't take much brainpower to figure out what Amon had meant. With one agile movement, the young Hunter moved her glasses from her pocket and placed them expertly on her nose. One hit, she thought. There was an opening between the whirling cans; she could take that and take the Witch down in one hit.  
  
As she cast her flame Craft, however, another shockwave rippled through the room, yanking her glasses off her face entirely. No--if she cast it straight at the Witch, it would likely miss entirely and hit Sakaki just behind him. Focusing her Craft upwards, she watched the flames narrowly miss Sakaki's head and arch towards the catwalk above. Good, no harm done, she thought. Indeed, it even seemed to have done some good; the Witch was now gaping up at the catwalk, where the supports that held the structure aloft were glowing a dull red.  
  
Twang! Twangtwangtwang!  
  
Frozen in horror at what she had done, Robin could only stare as each catwalk cable snapped entirely. She watched as Sakaki looked up--then let out a cry of terror that was dwarfed by the horrible noise of countless kilograms of metal hitting the ground. As the dust settled, silence did so as well. Even the Witch had paused, staring back towards Robin as if she were some kind of monster. "You. . .you. . ."  
  
Three shots rang out, followed by the thunderous clatter of metal cans hitting the floor. Karasuma was standing once more, this time armed with a smoking Orbo gun. Gurgling faintly, the Witch fell to one side, one arm reaching for the fallen catwalk. Sakaki. Robin ran across the field of metal debris as quickly as she could. The tapping of her footsteps seemed to have awakened the fallen Hunter, and she heard a faint voice from the earpiece that swung wildly from her hair. "My arm. . .god, somebody get my arm. . ."  
  
Robin's skirt pooled outward as she kneeled next to him, her grass green eyes searching for her comrade. He had been lucky--the falling metal had apparently lodged on something else as it had fallen, causing a small pocket just large enough for the unlucky Hunter. Only his arm was hurt; it was pinned beneath a second piece of metal that had come down with the catwalk. "Can you move?" she whispered.  
  
"Hey, what's going on down there? I lost your connection for about five minutes." Michael's voice. Now there was a sound for sore ears.  
  
"Send in the Factory. The Witch has been captured," intoned Amon, who was now standing almost close enough to be treading on her skirt. "We have some injuries though." Even as he spoke, the calm leader was reaching out to Sakaki, gently maneuvering him free of the metal. The young rookie's face was creased in tension and pain; Robin's heart ached just looking at him.  
  
"Injuries? What happened?"  
  
"Ahhhh! That hurt!"  
  
"Sakaki?" Michael's voice sounded panicked. "What happened, dammit?!"  
  
Robin helped Amon pull the rest of Sakaki's body out from under the catwalk. His arm was bloodied beneath his jacket; it was clear that he would not be using that appendage for some time. "He's going to be alright," came Karasuma's smooth voice. Although shaken and still bleeding from one side of her head, the older female Hunter was back on her feet again. "We'll need to get some medical attention right away, however."  
  
"Relax, Sakaki." Robin helped the rookie sit up, her face as soft and compassionate as she could make it. Sakaki did so, the painful creases finally giving way to a far more peaceful expression. As if corresponding his will, the last support snapped with a twang, causing the remaining catwalk to hit the ground with a loud THUD. They had been close, Robin realized as she allowed her gaze to move from Sakaki to the Witch they had just hunted. Too close for comfort.  
  
Above them, Karasuma reached a hand down to the rookie Hunter. "Can you stand?" she asked gently, as if not sure of the answer she would get.  
  
"Y-yeah. I got it. It's just--"he winced painfully as the act of standing jiggled his hurt arm, "--the arm." He glanced down at the Witch they had just Hunted and frowned. "Bastard."  
  
"Sakaki, I--"  
  
Robin's attempt to correct him was cut off by a loud groan from the Witch. Although his eyes were clouded and his limbs barely functioning, he reached one arm up towards Sakaki and let out a few rasping words. "H-h-haruto. . .H-haruto. . ." Another shot from Karasuma, however, silenced him easily. One more Witch ready to be carted off to the Factory.  
  
Amon, however, frowned slightly. "Why did he say your name?"  
  
"I dunno," protested Sakaki. "I've never seen the guy before. In fact--" here he winced and touched his arm, "I didn't get to see him much during the fight, either. Don't ask me."  
  
"Whatever the reason," intoned Karasuma, "we should probably get out of here." The older woman reached down to remove the headpiece from Robin's hair, smiling slightly. "We're not all exactly in the best condition."  
  
"Alright then. Michael?"  
  
"Yes Amon?"  
  
"We'll be there soon." The leader paused for a moment, then stooped to pick up a bit of debris and his Orbo gun. Turning towards Karasuma and Sakaki, he continued, saying "Go ahead and leave. I'll catch up."  
  
Karasuma nodded and proceeded to help the injured rookie towards the exit. "Why did he?" Robin could hear Sakaki talking softly to himself. "Why did he know my name?"  
  
"Robin."  
  
The young Hunter turned softly, her black skirt rasping against the rough factory floor. "What is it, Amon?"  
  
Before she could move further, however, a black-gloved hand waved a pair of glasses in front of her face. "I think you need these." Robin flushed at that, looking up at Amon rather sheepishly. While he did not seem to be angry with her, he was hardly pleased either. "Try not to lose them in the future."  
  
"I will." Now she did stand, transferring the frail spectacles to her pocket as she did so. "Amon?"  
  
"What?"  
  
She stared up at him, her green eyes meeting his gray ones for a moment-- but then sliding away again along with her confidence. ". . .nevermind."  
  
"Fine then." With that, the older Hunter strode out and into the last fading lights of the sun, leaving Robin to follow in his shadow.  
  
======  
  
**A/N: Well, here's my first WHR fic. There don't seem to be quite enough of those just yet, so here's my contribution to the pool. This fic takes place sometime between episodes 13 and 14, so if you haven't seen the end of WHR yet, never fear. I haven't either. :) For the most part, this fic will focus on Sakaki, although Robin and the others will get their fair share of spotlight as well. It's just that Sakaki never got enough in the series, so he gets an extra big helping.  
  
Any criticisms or reviews would be vastly appreciated. Thank you!  
  
--Manny PenPen**


	2. Chapter 2: Porcelain and Plaster

**Disclaimer: Witch Hunter Robin is not mine, it belongs to Sunrise and Bandai, I am the ruler of a tiny country known to the world as "Pfffffft." Standard disclaimer here. Move along. ;)**  
  
======   
  
_Three hundred and twenty years have passed  
  
Since the Coven sank in the dark.  
  
Accidents.  
  
A rising power.  
  
Words of good luck.  
  
A power left uninvestigated can be the most dangerous of all._  
  
**Chapter 2: Porcelain and Plaster**  
  
CRASH!  
  
"Dammit, Sakaki!"  
  
Morning light filtered through the window of Raven's Flat, stretching across the floor to where a freshly broken teacup lay glistening. Before that interruption, the morning had been a peaceful one in Robin's eyes-- Michael typing peacefully on the computer, Amon off in another meeting with Zaizen, Karasuma enjoying a late breakfast of yogurt. Even Doujima was there, sitting backwards in her chair as she watched Sakaki attend to the broken cup. "Sorry," he mumbled. "My arm's a little clumsy right now." The young hunter raised his right arm, which was encased by a white plaster cast, and waggled his fingers at Kosaka.  
  
The bald chief made an irritated noise into his mustache. "That just makes it worse! We pay enough for your medical bills already. If you break another cup, I'm docking your pay."  
  
Halfway across the room, Hattori's face peeked out around a stack of receipts. "Chief? I thought you listed those cups as a business expense. Along with--"  
  
Kosaka slammed his fist down hard on Michael's desk, causing a second teacup to fall to its splintery death. "It's the principle of the thing! Anyway, as I was saying--" Here he paused for a moment, a puzzled look crossing his face. "What was I saying?"  
  
"'Hunters who continually endanger or become endangered on Hunts do not deserve the title of Hunter in the first place.'" Doujima, ever the helpful one, continued to lean forward on her chair and grin.  
  
"Thank you, Miss Doujima. Sakaki, stop glaring at her."  
  
Obediently, Sakaki turned his head away from the blond Hunter and towards the last bits of shattered porcelain. "Why do you always yell at me? Doujima was the one who bailed on us last night."  
  
Leaning her head on the back of the chair, Doujima closed her eyes and gave a little smile. "I was busy, what can I say?"  
  
"Busy?" Having collected all the teacup shards, Sakaki stood up and made his way over to the trash receptacle. "What could have possibly been that important?"  
  
But Doujima's smile only became more irritating. "It was a very busy night. A very /private/ night, I might add." As if to emphasize her point, she twirled her orange cell-phone on one finger, causing the assorted key chains to whirl around in a dizzy circle.  
  
"Private?! What sort of a moron--"  
  
"That's /enough/. Sakaki." Chief Kosaka was clearly irritated that the two Hunters had managed to ignore him for even a few seconds. "I'm warning you. If you messing up Hunts and breaking things, I might have to suspend you." Here his face seemed to soften somewhat, and he rubbed the back of his head. "For your own sake."  
  
"My own sake." If anything, those words seemed to hit the brown-haired Hunter worst of all. "My own sake," he repeated. "Right."  
  
An awkward silence fell over the room, a silence interrupted only by the sounds of typing and muffled techno music. "Anyway," said Kosaka finally, "I need some tea. Hattori?"  
  
"It's over on the table, Chief."  
  
"Thank you." With that, Kosaka walked rather stiffly back to his desk, taking his cup of tea with him. Once he was gone, Robin watched as shuffled towards his desk and plunked down unceremoniously in his chair. Although he said nothing, the slightly sullen look on his face expressed far more frustration than his words ever could. Poor Sakaki, she thought. He really does have a lot of bad luck.  
  
A blur of motion to her left drew Robin's attention to Doujima, who was walking over to the male rookie. "How bad is it, anyway?" she asked, one manicured hand reaching out to pat Sakaki's cast. "Did you run into something on your motorcycle?"  
  
"Catwalk." He jerked the injured arm away from her, knocking over a stack of files in the process. "Dammit!"  
  
Doujima chuckled at this. "You ran into a catwalk?"  
  
"More like it ran into me." Wincing slightly from the memory, Sakaki rubbed at the plaster cast. "These things itch like crazy, you know."  
  
"I wouldn't know. I'm not quite as unlucky as you are." Although her voice was as teasing as ever, Robin thought she saw a hint of concern in Doujima's eyes. "Is that your Craft? Being unlucky?"  
  
He shrugged ruefully. "Maybe. Who knows?"  
  
"Hmmm." Doujima's eyes reflected the off-white color of Sakaki's cast. "Maybe I can help."  
  
"Help?" A slightly panicked look crossed Sakaki's face--Doujima's "help" didn't sound like it would be very helpful at all. "What kind of help?"  
  
The blond woman reached for her purse with a grin. "An American custom." When Doujima drew her hand back out of the purse, Robin had to hide a smile- -Doujima was holding a hot pink permanent marker. "If someone breaks their arm, you're supposed to sign the cast. For good luck."  
  
At that moment, Sakaki looked as if he'd rather have the other arm in a cast than let that marker get anywhere near him. "Doujima, I don't think-- oww!" As Doujima pulled his arm towards her, the male Hunter yelped and rammed the other appendage into a stack of files sitting near his elbow.. "That hurts, dammit!"  
  
Doujima only clicked her tongue at him. "Stop whining. It's only a little marker."  
  
"You just about tore my arm off! Lemme go!"  
  
Ignoring his pleas to release him, the female Hunter began to scrawl a message in English; Robin could not understand what it said, although she recognized the alphabet being used. "You whine too much, you know that?"  
  
That quieted him quickly. "I wasn't whining, was I?"  
  
"Close enough. There." Moving her hands so that Sakaki could gape in horror at the pink lettering, Doujima studied her handiwork with pride. "What do you think?"  
  
". . ."  
  
"Well?"  
  
"It's. . .pink." Frowning slightly, Sakaki turned his arm this and that as he tried to read the message the blond had written. "What's it say?"  
  
After a brief giggle on her part, Doujima replied, "If you don't know enough English to read it, then you don't deserve to know what it means." She patted the cast. "Way to go, Sakki-chan!" may not have been a traditional get-well-soon phrase in English, but it was certainly an amusing one. Especially when the victim was left wondering exactly what the hell was written on his arm. Still looking vastly amused, Doujima got to her feet and held the marker in the air. "Anyone else?"  
  
"Doujima!"  
  
"I'm doing this for you, Sakaki. Anyone? At all?" The marker waggled invitingly in midair.  
  
"I will."  
  
Both Doujima and Sakaki looked surprised as Robin stood up. With a slight swish of her black skirts, the honey-haired Craft-user stepped towards Doujima and held out her hand for the marker. "If you do not mind."  
  
Although he had turned his face away from her, Robin could see a faint red tinge appear on Sakaki's face. "S-sure. Why not?" He held plastered arm out for her perusal.  
  
Unlike Doujima, Robin took care with the marker, allowing each delicately scripted letter to sink neatly into the plaster. Once she had finished, she handed the marker back to Doujima and laid one slim hand on Sakaki's arm. The brown-haired teen looked for the second time that day, once more uncomprehending of the words written in plaster. "Is that English too?"  
  
In response, Robin shook her head. "I don't know any English either. This is Italian." She gently moved one finger along the letters, saying each syllable as she came to it. "Guarisci presto." Robin looked up at him, connecting her delicate green gaze with his. "Get well soon."  
  
Another silence fell over the room, although this time Michael's fingers were oddly silent as well. How long they stayed like this, Robin could not tell; it was only with the entrance of Amon that their peace was interrupted. "Michael," he intoned. "Karasuma. Sakaki. Doujima." A slight pause; Robin felt as if her heart had skipped a beat. "Robin. We're having a meeting."  
  
"Right." Slowly removing her hands from Sakaki's arm, the red-headed Hunter got to her feet. Amon, however, did not wait for her; he was already moving into the meeting area for the STN-J. With a faint rustle, she turned back towards Sakaki. "Do you need...?"  
  
"Help? Naah. I'll be fine." Although he clearly struggled with coordinating the cast, his legs were more than strong enough to get him standing without help.  
  
Doujima was already walking away from them. "Just don't knock anything over, okay?"  
  
This drew an irritated sigh from Sakaki. "Doujima, I'm not that clum--"  
  
CRASH!  
  
"Sakaki!" Kosaka's head appeared over the top of a stack of files. "What did I tell you?"  
  
"I didn't even touch it this time!" Strangely enough, it was true. At least, Robin thought it was true. She had been staring straight at this particular cup and had watched Sakaki's arm miss the cup--but it had toppled without any contact at all. Even now, as she watched the brown- haired Hunter's efforts to pick up the mess, she thought she could feel something emanating from him--  
  
"Hey, you coming?" Michael was standing behind her, one arm cradling his pocket computer. With the glare on his glasses the way it was, she could not interpret the odd expression she saw on his face. "I'm sure he's got it taken care of."  
  
"Thanks a lot," muttered the floor.  
  
"Any time. Robin?"  
  
"Right."  
  
As both Michael and Robin left the room, Sakaki was left alone for a few moments. By now, his arm was aching badly--he'd forgotten to take his pain medication that morning. Fortunately, he had not forgotten to bring the medicine, and the bottle was sitting where he had left it on the desk. Not wanting to get up just yet, he reached with his good arm, but the bottle was just out of reach. Dammit, he thought as he strained his fingers, why does the world hate me today?  
  
As if responding to his question, the bottle gave a slight quiver before shooting off the desk entirely. Startled, the brown-haired rookie jerked back just in time for the object to fly past him, missing his face by millimeters. What was that? he thought as he watched the medicine roll under a desk. "Karasuma?" He hadn't seen her leave--maybe she had touched it.  
  
But Karasuma was nowhere to be seen. What explanation did that leave him?  
  
He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about it at all.  
  
======  
  
**A/N: Well, it's been a while since my last chapter, eh? I've been a busy bee with other projects, unfortunately. This chapter is a bit shorter than the last one, but not by a whole lot. Not much action either, but hopefully the humor should make up for that. :)  
  
To Simpson-Girl: Maybe, maybe not. We'll just have to see how things work out, yes? ;)  
  
To Darkened Sakura: Thank you for the criticism. I've tried to do better with synonyms this time around.  
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed. You're making this writer feel very warm and fuzzy inside.  
  
--Manny PenPen**


	3. Chapter 3: Ravens and Writing Desks

**Disclaimer: WHR does not belong to me. It belongs to Sunrise, and Bandai, and various other fine people. I would, however, like to claim my coffee mug in the name of King James the First. Jolly good.**  
  
======  
  
_Three hundred and twenty years have passed  
  
Since the Coven sank in the dark  
  
Black wings.  
  
An empty shutterbox.  
  
Placeholders and lost ties.  
  
A calm precedes the inevitable maelstrom._  
  
**Chapter 3: Ravens and Writing Desks**  
  
A thin beam of light trailed down from a window set high in the concrete wall. Nearly noon, Karasuma guessed. From what she could see of the sky, it seemed that the weather was perfectly lovely today. Most of her view, however, was blocked by a raven pecking impertinently against the windowpane. What it was seeking, she had no idea; either way, however, the aperture was sealed tightly to keep the draft out and the classified information in.  
  
Something shuffled to her right, and Karasuma looked from the window to her partner's typical teal coat. Sakaki had arrived at last. "Finally decided to join us, eh Haruto?" asked Michael with a grin. The hacker's ginger hair looked oddly purple in the glare of the room's monitors.  
  
Karasuma expected a grin or a witty remark in return, but Sakaki only looked down at his screen and furrowed his eyebrows. "Yeah. I guess so." A pained look crossed his face. "Misplaced my medicine."  
  
"Medicine?" Robin's twin green eyes regarded the rookie with curiosity.  
  
There was clunking noise as he rapped the cast against the table. "For my arm."  
  
"Oh. Right."  
  
"Anyway," continued Michael, "we've got an interesting situation here. Two Witches working together this time." As his fingers clicked their way across the keyboard, various images scrolled across her screen. "That's the first one. Motosuwa Keisuke. Fifteen years old."  
  
Across the line of monitors, Karasuma could see Robin take in a sharp breath of air. "Only fifteen?"  
  
"A Witch is a Witch," replied Amon, his voice flat and emotionless. He was seated just beyond Sakaki with his arms crossed in front of his sturdy black chest. "Especially if they misuse their powers."  
  
"Every Witch must be Hunted." Robin's words fluttered like pale moths in the darkness of the room. "That's the rule."  
  
Out of the corner of her eye, Karasuma could see Sakaki shifting restlessly in his seat. Although it was not uncommon to see negative emotions on the young man's face, it seemed that whatever he was feeling had a different aspect to it. A depth of thought and worry that rarely manifested itself in the impulsive young rookie. The more nurturing side in her wanted to reach out, take his hand, feel his emotions, talk his worried expression into calm--but the professional side permitted her only a soft smile in his direction. Whether he saw her or not, she could not tell; he gave a soft sigh and continued to stare far too intently at his monitor. "What about the other one?"  
  
"Hang on a second." More typing ensued from Michael's corner of the room. After a few moments, a second image popped up, giving her a glimpse of another teenaged boy in a stylized, pop-culture getup. "Motosuwa Tsukasa. Seventeen years old." The glare of Michael's screen reflected off his glasses and sent thin beams of green light flickering around the room. "I think they're brothers."  
  
"Think?" Again Amon's voice echoed through the room. "You're not sure?"  
  
Surprisingly enough, a grin cut its way across Michael's face. "That's what's interesting about this case." More images appeared--a blurry chart, a list of names, a few scattered pictures. "Remember that Witch from last night?  
  
Doujima gave a petulant smirk. "I'll bet Sakaki does."  
  
He countered that by rolling his eyes. "I'll bet Doujima doesn't."  
  
They might have quarreled further, but a quick glance from Amon silenced both of them. He tended to have that effect on people. "Did you find something on him, Michael?"  
  
"More than that." At her terminal, Karasuma watched as one part of the chart glowed yellow. "I traced his family tree last night while I was looking for his Craft description. Seems he's got connections to this Motosuwa family and the two Witches for today. That bit--"here he tapped the yellow part of his screen, "is the Witch from yesterday. And those two," he added as two boxes farther down glowed green, "are today's Witches."  
  
Amon frowned slightly at his own console. "Did you get any other information?"  
  
"That's the even more interesting part," returned the hacker, adjusting his glasses as he spoke. "Every single one of these Witches is listed as being either missing, Hunted, or just dead. Including," he said with a grin, "the three I've got pulled up already. There's even a few near the bottom that disappeared within days of each other. Motosuwa Hanako, Haruka, and-- "  
  
The shrill caw of a raven echoed from overhead, and Karasuma watched as the window swung outward as if from a sudden gust of wind. Then it shuddered inward again with a loud bang, making five of the six Hunters jump in their seats. Amon, however, only stared down at his screen with his usual calm demeanor. "Could we get back to the topic at hand?"  
  
Although he looked a bit miffed to be denied his information, Michael merely shrugged and pulled up more images on the monitors. "Hanayama Station. They built it just a few years ago." A crowded subway car. A crackling electric cable. A complex maze of stairwells and escalators. Each photograph flickered in Karasuma's vision only to be replaced seconds later. "Runs completely on electricity and automatic protocols. Also protected with a pretty high-end firewall." He adjusted his glasses to hide a slight smirk. "Not as good as ours, though."  
  
Doujima yawned widely. "So why are we learning about train stations if we're hunting Witches?"  
  
"Because that's where the problem is." The red-headed hacker shuffled some images about on his screen. A few seconds later, Karasuma watched as security footage of a wrecked train played. "That's from this morning. Apparently somebody was messing with the electricity for the six o' clock train, and the whole thing just stopped dead on the tracks." Michael's tone grew softer, sounding almost reverent. "Killed twenty-six people." Another bang sounded from above, but this time only Doujima glanced up.  
  
"And they think it's a Witch that did it?" Sakaki's face looked far too pale and tense; his left hand was clenched so hard Karasuma could practically count his fingerbones.  
  
"It's not a matter of thinking," was Michael's reply. "The security cameras got us some visuals before they short circuited completely. And after that. . ." He shrugged. "Just a quick scan of the database."  
  
"Do you have anything about their powers?" asked Karasuma, speaking for the first time since the meeting began. If a Witch could kill that many people, even by causing an accident. . .it wasn't that much of a stretch to go from twenty-six civilians to five Hunters.  
  
Here the young hacker frowned, clearly thinking about something. "Sorta. We can assume one of them has an electrical Craft. I don't have any data on the second one, except that it might be some form of telekinesis." A noisy squawk; another raven had been pushed off the windowsill courtesy of a swinging windowpane.  
  
"Hattori!" As it was coming from the adjacent room, Chief Kosaka's voice was distant but no less abrasive. "Stop banging around!"  
  
"It's not me! I'm just typing!"  
  
BANG! A second window joined the first, accompanied by another raucous caw. "Hattori!"  
  
Within the briefing room, Doujima could barely hide a smirk. "Sounds like they're having a lover's spat."  
  
This drew a curious look from Robin. "Lover's...spat?"  
  
"Mmhmm." The slender blond stretched artfully, each crease of her body slowly smoothing itself out. "Like when Sakaki and Michael argue over who's got it worse here."  
  
To her left, the brunette-haired rookie groaned in a mixture of pain and irritation. "Like you'd know anything about it. You just waltz in whenever you want to."  
  
"More's the pity." Doujima leaned on her hands and gave a melodramatic little sigh. "I'm sure I'm missing out on your make-out sessions."  
  
Another window clattering forced Sakaki to pause before he responded; his pale face was contorted in a look of pain and concentration. "Yeah right. That's about as possible as you and Robin getting together."  
  
"You never know." Although her face was quite serious, Doujima could not hide the teasing sparkle in her eyes as she stretched a hand towards Robin. "Gotta love the handlebar hair," she commented, tweaking the aforementioned hair rather affectionately.  
  
"D-doujima?" Saying that Robin looked surprised would be quite an understatement.  
  
Michael was hard pressed to keep from laughing. Even with one hand clamped over his mouth, the hacker's snickering could still be heard from his corner of the room; Karasuma thought she heard the word "blackmail" being slipped in every snicker or two.  
  
And Amon. . .The black-haired Hunter got slowly to his feet, choosing to ignore the immature flippancy of his teammates. "We're leaving immediately," he said. "Doujima, take Robin down to the garage. Karasuma, I'll be out in a moment." Here his flint-grey eyes drifted down towards the brunette rookie, who was still scowling at Doujima. "Sakaki. Stay here for now."  
  
That got his attention. "Stay here?" he asked incredulously. "Off the Hunt?"  
  
"That's no surprise." With a teasing bounce to her step, Doujima walked past the Hunter and towards the door. "You've practically got 'liability' written on your forehead. Robin?"  
  
"Coming." The replacement still seemed a little dazed at the strange turn the conversation had taken.  
  
Even Michael couldn't suppress a grin as he walked to his computer station. "Can't have one of Yuirka's sessions if you're out on the Hunt, now can we?"  
  
"This isn't funny," Sakaki muttered. "Goddamn it."  
  
Sighing softly to herself, Karasuma got to her feet as well. Teasing aside, it was probably best that Sakaki did stay behind. The rookie tended to bungle things even with two healthy arms. "I'll see you in a moment, then," she said, eyes fixed on Amon's face. He nodded in response, although his gaze lingered on Robin for a few moments.  
  
"I'm not a liability." More mutterings from the rookie. Above them, two windows clattered back and forth in an invisible breeze.  
  
"I'll be waiting," she continued. Turning away from both leader and newbie, the second-in-command began a path that would take her out of the building and towards the Hunt. Let them work it out, she thought. I will respect Amon's decision.  
  
======  
  
The garage was utterly silent. As Karasuma waited within the sleek black frame of the STN vehicle, her gaze flickered across the plush leather seats and out to shadows beyond. A glance at her watch informed her that Amon had been upstairs for ten minutes, far too long an interval to be talking to Sakaki. That rookie could barely hold still for an entire briefing, much less that plus a ten-minute lecture. He acted too young for his age; Karasuma had trouble believing he was only a year younger than she.  
  
Footsteps. Turning her head towards the noise, the Hunter could hear the faint clicking noise of boots against concrete. "Amon?" she asked as soon as the black STN jacket came into view.  
  
But instead of seeing stringy black hair, she caught a glimpse of feathery brown--it was only Sakaki, giving her a rather sheepish look as he fiddled awkwardly with his jacket. "Nope, just me. Mister Amon's up talking to our administrator again." He took the opportunity to settle himself into the car next to her.  
  
"You're Hunting with us, then?" she replied, one eyebrow giving a faint arch as she looked at his cast.  
  
The young rookie squirmed nervously under her gaze and continued to fumble with his jacket. Apparently, the plaster was quite the burden when it came to maintaining a Badass Hunter Image. "He requested I stay behind, but. . ." A shrug rippled through his boyish frame. "So long as it isn't an order. . ."  
  
"Even with a broken shooting arm?" While Karasuma had few doubts about her partner's enthusiasm, she had even fewer over his ability to get himself into bad situations.  
  
"I'm. . .secretly ambidextrous?"  
  
She shook her head. In her experience, Hunters tried to take extra time /off/ work for an injury. "Just be careful. Today isn't going to be an easy Hunt."  
  
This prompted a scowl from his face and a few rustling papers at his feet. When Karasuma looked, however, she saw that those same pages were just a few inches too far for him to have touched them. Odd. "I'm always careful. It's just bad luck."  
  
"I'm not so sure about that," she replied softly. "And either way, you look exhausted." A wane, tired looking face, grayish-blue eyes half-hidden by drooping eyelids, limbs that moved far too stiffly--she should have just ordered him to go home. "Is something wrong?"  
  
There was a long pause before Sakaki answered. "Yeah. No problem," he responded hastily, attempting once more to jam his broken arm into his jacket. "Except this, maybe."  
  
Although Karasuma was not one to laugh at fellow humans' pain, she couldn't help but chuckle at that. Reaching out to him, she tugged at his coat until the white and pink plaster was tucked away neatly into his sleeve. "There. Much better."  
  
"Thanks." Sakaki settled himself back more comfortably now, leaning so that his legs could take up more space in the car.  
  
Karasuma nodded. "You're welcome." Here she paused for a moment, allowing a thin frown to settle on her face. "But still. You look like something's on your mind."  
  
"It's nothing, really. Just my imagination."  
  
". . .imagination or no, I don't want you getting yourself hurt," she reminded him sternly. "You have my personal code, you know. If you need something. . .I'd rather get a call from you than a call from the coroner's."  
  
This elicited a weak laugh from her partner. "Do you really think I could end up like that?"  
  
"I think any of us could." Crossing her arms over her chest, the older Hunter returned her gaze to the window. "I'm just more worried about you because you're my partner." For the second time that day, Karasuma heard the distant click of boots; Amon was approaching quickly. "And I can't imagine getting a replacement for you."  
  
Whatever Sakaki's response might have been, it was muffled by the noise of Amon settling himself into the front seat of the car. One of her few complaints about leather seats. . . "He's coming then?" Amon's voice cut through the air like an Orbo bullet through gelatin.  
  
After a quick glance at Sakaki, Karasuma nodded. "He's promised to be careful."  
  
"I did?"  
  
"Good." The loud thrum of the engine shuddered through the car as their black-haired leader revved up the engine. As he pulled the car out of its parking space, he leaned slightly into his mouthpiece and spoke into it. "Doujima, Michael, we're leaving."  
  
"Gotcha." Doujima's voice echoed pleasantly in Karasuma's headset. "I'll follow you then." If she glanced back, the older Hunter could see Doujima's red vehicle tailing Amon's, passing assorted cars and one lonely motorcycle in the process. Things were going smoothly enough. It would be difficult taking two dangerous Witches at once, but they had taken worse cases before. There was very little to worry about; even Sakaki had resigned himself to relaxing quietly in the car. He was accident-prone, to be sure, but not dangerous. At least, not to his fellow Hunters. . .  
  
The sunlight streaked across the car, but Karasuma could find no comfort in it. It wasn't nearly as strong now; a soft bank of clouds had rolled in right under her nose. Why did she have such a bad feeling about this Hunt? Why?  
  
At least, she thought to herself, hindsight will be 20/20.  
  
======  
  
**A/N: Argh, also a short chapter this time around. Quiet too. But for those of you patient enough, the next couple chapters are going to be doozies--I doubt there will be any slow points for a while. So just sit tight--the good parts are coming.  
  
One plus for you Karasuma fans out there, though--I'm switching to her perspective for a while. She's really gotten the shaft in terms of character spotlight so far, so I figure it's time to let her get some shine time. Kathryn Anne, if you're reading this, would it be possible for you to give my a critique concerning Karasuma's characterization? I have a hard time with her (hence her lack of influence in previous chapters) and would greatly appreciate any help you could give me. I really need to get her character down before I get into some of the later chapters I have planned.  
  
To Simpson-Girl: You're Italian, eh? Awesome! I'm glad to know my research paid off. And since you were nice enough to review right after I posted the first draft of this chapter. . .I'll just say that you are very observant. :)  
  
To Misora: Wow. Just wow. You are my WHR-fanfic-hero (as I already told you at Harry's), so that review really means a lot to me. It's like getting praised by Tolkien.  
  
To everyone else: Thank you so much for reviewing! I really appreciate any small note you could leave me, especially if it's to point out an error. I know I make plenty of mistakes in the typo department alone...  
  
EDIT: Added the last segment to this chapter and fixed a few things. For those of you who like Karasuma. . .well, here's a little more. Enjoy.  
  
--Manny PenPen**


	4. Interlude I: Lucifer

**Disclaimer: WHR belongs to Sunrise, and Bandai, and possibly the Sci Fi Channel. Not me. If it did. . .well, it'd probably be called "Witch Hunter Sakaki" instead. ;)**  
  
======  
  
**Interlude I: Lucifer**  
  
In the shadowy recesses of an upstairs office, Administrator Zaizen was lighting a cigar. First a flicker, then the soft curl of smoky contamination that drifted to the ceiling. Poison--but a poison familiar and pliant to his will. Everything else in this place carried a different sort of toxin. The Orbo, the Craft, the darkened blood polluting the purity of the human race. Even Amon, the STN's top Hunter and his subordinate, even Amon--tainted. Unforgivable. How he wished Witches were something as easily ground into oblivion as the ashes from his cigar.  
  
Something stirred to his left, and the ominous shadow of a Hunter entered the room. Unforgivable, but also necessary. Eventually, when Orbo would be perfect and pure, that would no longer be the case. But until that day. . .unforgivable. "Have you finished, then?" Toying with the cigar in one hand, Zaizen allowed his gaze to lock with Amon's.  
  
"Yes." A curt nod accompanied the equally curt syllable.  
  
"And the girl?"  
  
Amon's face remained emotionless. "I stand by what I said before."  
  
One eyebrow arched upwards as if considering his words. "Are you saying I'm wrong?" Taking a deep breath of cigar smoke, Zaizen allowed the brisk taste of tobacco to linger on his tongue. Like Amon, tainted--but controllable.  
  
"No," replied Amon, his voice a rumbling tremor in the darkness of the room. "But the Inquisitor could be."  
  
"You're allowing your emotions to obstruct your reason, Amon," he said. "If the Inquisitor says she must be Hunted, then she must be Hunted." The smoke continued to billow in rings around his head; dim halos for the only angel in Hell.  
  
Once more, the Hunter's face betrayed no emotion. "I only ask for a little time. To observer her and make certain the Inquisitor was correct. After that. . ." One hand strayed to his pocket and pressed itself against something within. The anti-Witch bullets. "I would have no problems following orders."  
  
With a slight gesture, Zaizen laid the cigar on the rim of the ashtray, allowing it to burn for a short while longer. Perhaps a few days more would not hurt matters much. With the Motosuwa case in full swing, it would be difficult to remove any Hunter safely, much less someone as talented as the fire-Crafter. Unforgivable. All of them were Witches in some way or another, but the girl was the worst of all. The very fires of Hell burned within her, and yet she and the tainted Hunter were his best weapons. Unforgivable.  
  
Amon was waiting on him. Although he would never voice his impatience, the raven-haired Hunter clearly wanted to continue on his way with an answer. "Fine. I'll give you seven days." Zaizen's sallow fingers tapped idly against the cigar. "Do not let her alone. Observer her whenever you can. And if she raptures again, we will commence operations immediately."  
  
"Understood." With a soft swirl of his jacket, Amon was walking towards the door. Efficiency was Amon's way, even with his tainted blood. Zaizen would almost be sorry to lose such a Hunter to the soon-to-be-perfected Orbo. "I will keep in contact."  
  
"Good." With a practiced gesture, Zaizen lifted the smoking cigar and held it before his face for a few moments. "Proceed then," he continued. Unforgivable, he thought as Amon swept out of the room. Unforgivable, like the corrupted angels who preyed upon those not cursed with contamination. Unforgivable, those damned--every last one of them.  
  
With a satisfied smirk, Administrator Zaizen ground the ashes of his cigar into oblivion.  
  
======  
  
**A/N: Just a short piece before I gear up for the next few chapters. I don't like leaving A/Ns after Interludes, so I'll make this short. I'd like to remind everyone that this fic /does/ take place between episodes 13 and 14, and that this fic is most likely going to stay within the bounds of canon. More challenging and interesting that way, I think. ;) Also, my thanks to Kathryn Anne for the characterization critique. Definitely appreciating that here.**


	5. Chapter 4: Labyrinth, Part I

**Disclaimer: I neither own nor pretend to own anything Witch Hunter Robin related. Those honors are reserved for Bandai, Sunrise, and Sci-Fi Channel. I suppose I could make a case for the original Witches I made for the story, but they inform me that they own themselves. Bugger.**  
  
======  
  
_Three hundred and twenty years have passed  
  
Since the Coven sank in the dark.  
  
Darkness.  
  
A cluttered labyrinth.  
  
Shattered youth and forced exiles.  
  
In the center of a maze, how impossible is the return journey?_  
  
**Chapter 4: Labyrinth, Part I**  
  
Dammit, thought Doujima, there goes my hairstyle.  
  
It had been such a nice day, too. She had not expected a sudden downpour to interrupt the one-minute walk from the car to the train station. Walking carefully so as to keep her boots from squeaking, the young blonde wiped a thick layer of moisture from her jacket. She'd have to fix that too. Dry cleaning, probably.  
  
Behind her, the noise of rustling skirts whispered in the darkness, and Doujima turned to see that Robin had made a quick entry as well. She had to stifle a giggle; Robin's "handlebars" were drooping visibly from the watery burden they had absorbed. "It's wet out there, isn't it?"  
  
A slight shrug rippled across the redhead's shoulders. "I guess," she replied, sparing a quick glance at the steady downpour that now curtained the entrance. "I did not know it was supposed to rain bats and frogs today."  
  
It was Doujima's shoulders that moved this time, heaving up and down with the blonde's stifled laughter. "Cats and dogs, little Robin. Honestly, what do they teach in Italy these days?"  
  
As Robin opened her mouth to reply, the front doors suddenly banged open, admitting rain, wind, and three soaked Hunters. Ever the epitome of imperturbability, Amon stood there for a few moments and adjusted his headpiece. Out of all the Hunters, he was the only one who had thought to wear waterproof clothing; only a few droplets dared cling to his dark form. "Michael."  
  
A familiar voice crackled to life in Doujima's ears, making her jump slightly. They seriously needed to fix these headsets sometime. "Right here. You're in then?"  
  
"Yes." Doujima watched as his flint-gray gaze traveled around the group and rested briefly on Sakaki, who was attempting to learn how to manage a gun with his broken arm. Then his gaze swept across to Robin. Doujima thought she saw his eyes narrow for a moment, but it lasted for such a short time she could not be sure. "What's our current situation?" he asked.  
  
"Depends. Any of you scared of the dark?"  
  
This elicited a rather exasperated noise from Sakaki. "What do you think?"  
  
Doujima could almost see Michael's grin. "Just figured I'd ask. Wouldn't want any more accidents to happen, y'know," he replied. "Anyway," he added in a far more serious tone, "we've got an interesting situation here. Most of the power to this place got cut off a couple hours ago. Not sure if that's the Witch's or the management's doing."  
  
To her left, Karasuma fiddled with her mouthpiece before speaking. "So we won't have lights at all?" she asked, a note of concern in her voice. And for good reason too, Doujima thought. Between Sakaki's clumsiness and the dark, there was sure to be at least one major mishap before the end of the Hunt. Wonderful.  
  
"Depends. There's still some emergency lights on the escalators, and there appears to be full power yet at a couple of the train stations, but other than that..." His voice faded into the sound of rapid typing for a few seconds. "Yeah. It's gonna be dark."  
  
"Do you have a lock on the Witches' locations yet?" asked Amon, his voice a heavy shroud in the already-dark hallway. Doujima shivered. There were moments when that man's voice was dead sexy, but the other times. . .the guy sounded like a serial killer. Rather disturbing thoughts to think about your leader.  
  
"Negative. All I can tell is that they're still in the building somewhere." More typing noises. "I'm trying to get a lockdown on the doors so they can't escape at least, but that'll take at least ten more minutes to finish."  
  
Amon carefully drew his Orbo gun. "Right," was his curt response. Then he turned his attention back to the other Hunters, his jet-black coat flowing silently about him in an unseen wind. "Karasuma, Sakaki, and Doujima, head toward the north exit." Here he paused for a moment, his jaw clenching slightly as his gaze drifted towards Robin. "Robin, you're coming with me."  
  
"Of course." Robin's eyes traced an arc up towards Amon's, then shifted downwards again just before their gazes could meet. Infuriatingly demure, that one. It must be that Catholic upbringing. . .  
  
"Be careful, guys," crackled Michael's voice. "I can't do that much to help you this time around."  
  
"We'll be fine," replied Karasuma, a patient smile visible on her face. "Just hold down the fort, alright?"  
  
Doujima could almost hear Michael's grin. "It's not going anywhere."  
  
"Good. We're moving out." Never one for idle chatter, Amon strode forward briskly; within seconds only the thin tatters of his overcoat still remained in the gaunt light from the doors. Robin followed just as quickly, her black silhouette already invisible against the dark. A few seconds of footsteps; then a flickering light down the hallway as Robin's craft manifested itself as a slim ball of flame. And in a few more seconds, even that light had faded into the distance. Doujima couldn't help but take in her breath sharply.  Michael had said it would be dark, but this. . .this was oblivion. And to watch them disappear so completely. . .  
  
For a few moments they all paused, staring after the two Hunters. It was Karasuma who broke their reverie, her smooth voice slipping calmly into Doujima's thoughts. "Are we ready then?" Karasuma gripped her own gun tightly, sending ripples down the fabric of her sleeve.  
  
"'Course," was Sakaki's response. Despite his continued struggle to acquaint his gun with his off-hand, the rookie sounded impatient to get started. Odd, really, considering how tired he looked. Maybe that was the adrenaline poisoning talking, she thought with a smirk. "We're just taking the other hallway, right?"  
  
Michael's voice sprang to life in her headset. "Pretty much. Just be careful. The blueprints--"here there was a pause filled with the sound of mouseclicks "--say there's a bunch of escalators between you and the exit. Probably a good idea to avoid them. I still don't have info on why the power's out, so. . ."  
  
"It could snap back on without warning?" Why did the moron sound so excited about that prospect? Tch. Men.  
  
Fortunately, Karasuma was far calmer about the matter. "Thank you, Michael. We're going now." And with a few cautious steps forward, the red- headed psychic blended her form in with the dark. Having finally arranged his Orbo gun so that his broken right arm would support the recoil from the weapon, Sakaki followed seconds later. The void seemed to swallow him whole, from the soles of his boots to the feathery brown tips of his hair.  
  
Doujima shuddered. It wasn't so much the dark she feared as much as what might be lurking within it. As if to confirm her fears, something rattled in the rafters above the Hunters' heads; Doujima jumped visibly, although she could no longer see her partners well enough to determine their reactions. Maybe she was imagining things, she thought as her steps took her from the safety of the light and into the uncertainty of the shadow.  
  
It was as if she had gone blind. Stripped of her vision, the slim Hunter was left with muffled footsteps and softly swishing jackets. If not for the firm sensation of the floor beneath her feet, Doujima might have thought that feeling had left her as well. If there were walls, they were invisible to both ears and hands. Did Miho really know what she was doing? Hell, did the STN? What point was there to sending them into such a needlessly difficult Hunt?  
  
A sudden rattle echoed in the rafters, crescendoing into a raucous clamor before settling back into a shameful silence. Two guns clicked at once, with the third following after an awkward clunk of plaster and metal. But nothing happened. The rafters remained silent, as if denying the sound had ever occurred in the first place.  
  
Calm down, Doujima, she thought as she carefully lowered her gun. Probably some rat or another. Not that rats were much better than Witches, in her opinion, but at least rats didn't go around ripping people apart with Crafts. To her right, Karasuma's breathing slowly returned to its usual calm rhythm. "False alarm," she whispered.  
  
"Y-yeah. Right." Sakaki's voice sounded strained. Poor fool, thought Doujima. He must be disappointed.  
  
Although they were now far more cautious, Karasuma's footsteps resonated in the darkened hallway once again. Doujima found her feet following along despite her mind's nervous protests. Hot. The air was damnably hot. With all the air conditioners silenced from lack of power, the atmosphere of the place seemed to pool in puddles of stagnant heat. A droplet of sweat trickled down the side of her face. Feeling like she was about to explode with nervousness didn't help matters much. Neither did loosening her collar.  
  
As she continued to wade through the muddy shadows, a pale green light caught at the corner of her eye. Light? she thought, almost relieved. Who had a light in here? Another flicker, closer--there. Around Sakaki's neck, the slim vial of Orbo cast a green gleam over his features. Orbo? Doujima felt for her own vial of the substance, but could see no similar glow present. "Sakaki?" she asked.  
  
Karasuma had noticed it too. "Sakaki, your Orbo," she murmured.  
  
"Huh?" Clearly, he had failed to notice anything; the Orbo's glow was barely enough to illuminate his chest and would certainly not have been visible in broad daylight. As he brought his plaster-bound hand up to touch the vial, another clatter broke out in the rafters above their heads. It was louder this time, punctuated by soft pinging noises all around her. Although her hands were shaking from fear, Doujima drew her Orbo gun. Witch. It had to be a Witch this time.  
  
PING. Something small struck her gun, echoing into her hand as well as her ears. It bounced off the metal of the gun and dropped to the floor, where it rolled through the small circle of light so conveniently provided by Sakaki's Orbo. It was a screw. And as it slowed to a stop, she could see more screws, each of them oddly flattened on one side as if they had been ripped from their holes by some force or another. What the hell? Doujima's mind refused to function.  
  
Karasuma's mind, however, was as quick as it had ever been. "Run," she hissed, a note of urgency rising in her voice. "Run!" Without warning, a strong hand was dragging Doujima by the collar, and she staggered into a run that was half sprint, half clumsy shuffle. Her boots squeaked loudly as she ran--but that was nothing compared to the tremendous crash of an entire section of metal rafters smashing against the floor. The shockwave rattled her feet dangerously and, had it not been for Karasuma's firm grip on her shoulder, she might have fallen.  
  
None of them spoke for a few moments. They were all too busy trying to regain their breath. Doujima could feel her heart beating wildly against her ribcage. That could have killed us, she thought as a few straggling bits of metal clattered against the floor. That could have killed us.  
  
"Karasuma? Haruto? Doujima?" Michael's panicked voice broke through her headset. "What the hell just happened down there?"  
  
Karasuma let out a faint groan as she slowly got out from under Doujima and onto her feet. "Part of the ceiling collapsed. Possibly the handiwork of a Witch." Looking up, Doujima could see--see!--her elder colleague's frame silhouetted against a soft glow of red. No more green; Sakaki's Orbo had returned to its usual dull consistency. This time, the light came from a row of reddish lights set just around a turn in the hallway. Emergency lights. Escalators. They were probably near the escalators.  
  
"Possibly?"  
  
"It's still hard to see down here."  
  
"I'm working on that," replied Michael. Brushing a thin layer of dust from her jacket, Doujima carefully rose to her feet. Light, even light shed by those sanguine beacons was a welcome sight to her vision-starved eyes. "I've got good new though. Almost finished with the lockdown. Won't be more than a minute or so."  
  
Just a few feet to her left, Sakaki was pulling himself together again by assuming a standing position. "Ow," he commented. "I think I cracked my cast."  
  
Doujima couldn't help but laugh nervously at that. He sounded so calm about nearly getting squashed by a couple tons of metal. Then again, he had survived worse, she supposed. "Is that it?"  
  
He stiffened at that. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice slipping instantly from nonchalance to what almost sounded like terror. Huh? Was it something she said?  
  
"Good. We'll need any help you can give us," continued Karasuma, one manicured hand pressed to her headset. Doujima turned away from Sakaki and again let her gaze rest on the escalators. Under the reddish glare of the emergency beacons, shadows seemed to be drawn far clearer than they would be under normal light. One in particular wavered in place, and she watched in stupid fascination.  
  
Frustrated with her silence, Sakaki gave an irritated sigh. "Fine. Ignore me. Whatever."  
  
Michael continued, unperturbed by their conversation. "Gotcha. I'll give you guys a warning once the lockdown's about done."  
  
The silhouette continued to waver. In fact, it was no longer even doing that--the movement was more rhythmic now, as if being cast by some mechanical object. Then it halted again; Doujima watched as a distinctly human form stepped out in front of the escalators. And not just any human form. She recognized him instantly as one of the Witches from their briefing: Motosuwa Keisuke.  
  
"Doujima?" Sakaki's voice sounded puzzled.  
  
Karasuma turned as well, a question on the tip of her tongue. "Yurika?"  
  
There was no need to reply to either. The Witch raised one shadowed hand, then swept it down o touch the ground in a slashing arc. In response, a wave of motion hurled itself across the floor with such ferocity that Doujima found herself on the floor and out of breath before she could formulate a coherent thought. If she glanced up, the young Hunter could see that her partners had been similarly affected, although both Sakaki and Karasuma had managed to fall only to their knees. Glimmering green now mixed with red; all three Orbo pendants were earning their keep.  
  
After a muttered curse word slipped through Karasuma's lips, she aimed her Orbo gun towards the Witch. Beside her, Sakaki had also drawn his gun and was propping it up against his cast to help with recoil. Two shots rang out, two Orbo bullets screaming towards their targets. Another wave of Craft rolled through the floor in an attempted counterattack, but it halted immediately as Karasuma's bullet punched through his shoulder. Damn, Doujima thought as she hauled herself back into a standing position. Remind me never to get in Karasuma's way.  
  
A terrified scream rent the air as the Witch staggered backwards, one shadowy hand clutching at his shoulder. For a moment, Doujima thought he might launch another attack, but he surprised all three Hunters by instead dashing up the escalator steps. "Dammit, he's getting away!" muttered Sakaki. And before either her or Karasuma could stop him, the young rookie had bolted after the Witch, his plaster-bound arm jouncing against his chest in what must surely have been a very painful manner.  
  
Karasuma took a moment to contact Michael. "We've got good news and bad news." Even as she spoke, the senior Hunter picked up her pace, turning the corner in an instant and heading up the escalator herself. Doujima followed suit, her footsteps sounding mere seconds after Karasuma's.  
  
"What's the good news?" returned the hacker, a wary tone creeping into his voice.  
  
They were at the top of the escalator now; here the glare of the red lights only reached a short distance before being lost again to oblivion. Gulping to try and quell the dry lump that had risen in her throat, Doujima continued to follow the footsteps of those ahead of her, Witch and Karasuma and all. "The good news--"Karasuma's voice sounded breathy and strained as she ran "--is that we found the Witch."  
  
A moment of silence on Michael's side. "Dare I ask what the bad news is?"  
  
Two shots fired in quick succession, followed each time by the shattering noise of Orbo bullets eating into the wall. "Dammit!" cursed Sakaki's voice. "He's too fast!"  
  
"The bad news," panted their leader pro temp, "is that Sakaki found him first." Just up ahead, Doujima could see light--real light this time, not the Christmas colors from Orbo or escalator beacons. She could see both Sakaki and the Witch now, how they were both running at top speed toward an illuminated set of double doors. "Do you got that lockdown yet?" Karasuma continued. "We're going to need it."  
  
"Working. Almost there." Michael's fingers were practically flying over his keyboard. "Fifteen seconds. . ."  
  
Another shot, another miss; both young men were scrambling for the door, practically on its threshold. Hurry up, dammit! Doujima thought. Her own movements were a flurry of footsteps and strangled breathing. Though she tried to move faster, the slim blond realized neither she nor Karasuma could attain enough speed to make up for their head start.  
  
"Ten seconds. Haruto, if he makes it, you've got to back off."  
  
"I've almost got him, dammit!" That was true enough, as the rookie hunter couldn't have been more than two seconds behind the Witch. But Motosuwa was too fast; by the time three seconds had passed, he had sprinted through the doorway. Without slowing his pace for even a moment, Sakaki had crossed the threshold as well.  
  
"Haruto! What the hell are you doing?" yelled the hacker. "Get out of there before the doors lock!"  
  
"What?" The young rookie halted suddenly, turning back towards the open portal. For a few brief seconds, he looked puzzled; it was only until the doors began to close in front of him that he realized what he had gotten himself into. "Hey!" he yelped, making a last-ditch effort to hold the doors open. But for a man with one hand holding his gun and the other smothered in plaster, the task was impossible. Both she and Karasuma arrived at the threshold only to watch Sakaki's face disappear behind thick metal doors.  
  
Their comrade wasn't the only thing that disappeared, however, as the light source that had been illuminating the entire scene was now invisible behind those metal doors. Oblivion again. Standing so close that Doujima could practically feel her, Karasuma paused for a moment to breathe deep, ragged breaths. So Karasuma is out of breath too, thought the blond. That's what you get from trying to chase down Spastic Man.  
  
"Sakaki?" murmured Karasuma the instant her breath returned. No answer. After a few moments' pause, she called again. "Sakaki, can you hear me?"  
  
But there was only the muted crunch of a certain hacker's head meeting his keyboard. "Why doesn't he listen to me?" he muttered.  
  
"Michael," interrupted the senior Hunter, "can you contact Sakaki?" Doujima listened as Karasuma tapped at her headset gently. "The channel's not working."  
  
"Gimme a second." A faint click sounded in Doujima's ears; Michael was switching channels. The next time she heard his voice, it was faint and static-filled. "Haruto? Hey, Haruto! You still alive down there?" Still no answer. It was as if the rookie had fallen off the face of the earth. Another click; Michael had returned to their channel. "Nothing. Either he won't respond, he can't respond, or. . ."  
  
This time, Doujima added her thoughts to the conversation. "He can't have gotten in that much trouble already, can he?"  
  
"True," admitted Karasuma. "Maybe something's just broken. Can you get the doors open?"  
  
"It'll take time." Fingers flicked over the keyboard. "Ten minutes."  
  
Ten minutes for Sakaki to be alone with a dangerous Witch.. . .she might as well prepare the coffin already. "You know that gives him way too of a head start in the injury department?" said Doujima.  
  
"Then we'll call for backup. Michael?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
Although her tone wavered slightly, Karasuma's words were firm and commanding. "Patch me through to Amon. And tell him we need backup."  
  
======  
  
It was funny how bright florescent lights could be; Sakaki found himself shading his eyes for an entire minute after he had brazenly entered the room. This was not helping his headache at all. Already it burned like a fire in his temples, with so much pressure and pain that he felt as though his head were exploding. It hadn't been so bad this morning, he thought. And it hadn't been accompanied by a similar burning that had nestled itself just beneath his Orbo pendant. It was almost as if they fueled each other; the fire in his head raced to his heart, and then back again with even greater force than before. Was he sick? Had he caught a cold without realizing it?  
  
Either way, he was in trouble. A lot of trouble. Pressing one hand to the side of his head, Sakaki fiddled with the earphone that was nestled there. "Michael? Anybody there?" he called, a twinge of nervousness creeping into his voice. Had something happened to them? "Miss Karasuma?" Surely radios didn't randomly malfunction like this. "Doujima?"  
  
"They can't hear you."  
  
Sakaki whirled about, propping his Orbo gun against the plaster that currently imprisoned his shooting arm. It was a makeshift solution that put his arm in a great deal of pain after each shot, but it was better than firing completely left-handed. "What the hell do you want?"  
  
But the Witch only laughed and shook his head. "What do I want? What do I want?" He spat on the ground and ground his boot into the puddle his spittle had created. "How about a life? How about a future?" As if to emphasize his point, the teenager lifted one black gloved hand to his shoulder; a glimmer of green Orbo from Karasuma's shot still lingered there.  
  
If there was one thing Sakaki had to appreciate about Karasuma, it was her excellent aim with a gun. He'd already wasted four out of five bullets himself. "Witches don't deserve either of those," he spat back. In the back of his head, he could feel another wave of feverish pain assaulting his head. Damn it, why was karma biting him in the butt /now/? "You can't get out of here," he continued with a wince of pain. "We've got the place locked down."  
  
"You too," was the Witch's reply. "You can't go anywhere either, can you?" As if sensing Sakaki's pain, Motosuwa Keisuke slowly stepped towards the rookie Hunter. "I don't know about you, but this plays right into my hands." He gave a childish grin at that, and Sakaki remembered for the first time that this Witch was supposed to be fifteen years old. Fifteen years old and a serial killer, that is.  
  
Sakaki squeezed his gun tightly, trying to ignore the wave of pain beating against his skull. "Whaddya mean by that?"  
  
The Witch shrugged his shoulders, sending a ripple through his gothy black getup. "Hunters don't deserve an answer," he mocked. "Only to be distracted."  
  
Distracted? Sakaki tightened his grip on his weapon and chanced a quick glance around. The were standing on a platform, he realized, below which were the electrified rails for the train. Not much more than a glorified catwalk, really; the guardrails were woefully inadequate and most likely too loose for their own good. What was the Witch talking about? The young Hunter refocused his gaze on Motosuwa just in time to see one arm sweep in an arc across the floor. A distant rumble made his teeth rattle, then sent him reeling entirely as the full force of the Witch's Craft rolled over him. He dropped to one knee.  
  
A high-pitched laugh sounded from above him. The rookie jerked his head up- -only to reel again as Motosuwa struck him across the face. Not much of a punch, really, but it was enough to ignite the inferno raging inside his head. He was on both knees now. As it could not hold a gun, his plastered right arm clutched at his head in an attempt to stop whatever was happening inside. Ping. Pingpingping. Both young men looked up in time to see a thin shower of screws and rivets tumble from the rafters. Sakaki froze. Did he. . .? Was that. . .? The half-formed questions refused to function in his numbed mind.  
  
With an enormous crash, a cacophony of metal and glass came tumbling down and landed as a pile of shrapnel that divided Witch and Hunter. Fortunately (or unfortunately), the two of them were far enough away that the shockwave merely jarred at the soles of their feet. Motosuwa in particular tottered, especially as he registered the enormity of what had just happened. "What the hell?!"  
  
Though hardly planned on his part, the coincidence bought Sakaki enough time to remanuever the gun into a firing position. "Give it up already!" he called. "We're not going to kill you!" Funny, he thought. His headache didn't seem quite so bad any more. Willing himself to keep focused, the young Hunter fixed his gaze on the Witch's face. No more distractions for him.  
  
"Oh yeah?" retorted the Witch. Despite the touch of nervousness that had crept into his voice, Motosuwa stared right back at Sakaki with such defiance that he was forced to stagger a bit. "There's fates worse than death!" Violet eyes narrowed rebelliously--then slowly began to soften. Anger melted into surprise, surprise to shock, and shock to a flabbergasted recognition. "H-h-haruto?" he rasped.  
  
Sakaki staggered backwards, utterly bewildered by the Witch's response. "What?" the rookie choked out. "How the hell did you get my name?" What was with this? First the Witch from yesterday's Hunt, and now this. . .Sakaki kept his finger curled tightly around the trigger.  
  
An almost hurt expression crossed Motosuwa's face. "You. . .you don't remember? I know it's been a couple years, but. . ." His gaze swept downward towards Sakaki's trenchcoat and Orbo gun. "And why are you working for them?"  
  
It was Sakaki's turn to look flabbergasted. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "I've been a Hunter all my life." In the back of his head, a sharp jab of pain marked the return of his headache. God /damn/ it! Couldn't he get a moment's peace?  
  
Curling his fists into tight balls, the Witch shook his head so vehemently that Sakaki wondered if it might fly off all together. "That's not true! You were one of us, dammit!"  
  
No. The Witch was lying. Anger flashed in Sakaki's mind, anger that Motosuwa could even suggest such a thing. "I'm not a Witch!" he yelled. "Hunters aren't Witches!" And before the Witch could retort, Sakaki fired.  
  
It was a clumsy shot, even at this range; the recoil rattled the bones in his arm so hard he thought they would pop out. For a split second, the Witch stared at him in utter disbelief. But that expression quickly gave way to pain as the bullet sliced against the side of his head. A grazing shot, dammit, but at least it would hurt. "Ahhhh!" screamed Motosuwa, reeling backwards and clutching at his head. "T-traitor! Traitor!"  
  
"Just a Hunter," replied Sakaki as he took a few steps towards the Witch. Despite the pain in his head and chest, the rookie couldn't help but feel a spike of adrenaline wash over him. This was his favorite part of it all-- seeing all his hard work pay off at last. He'd have a success to report to Karasuma and the others. And maybe then they wouldn't dismiss him as being incompetent. Lifting his arm so he was holding the gun in his left hand alone, Sakaki kept the barrel on a steady level with Motosuwa's chest. The Witch in question was too absorbed in his injuries to do anything more than stare at the Hunter with horror in his eyes. Horror. That made him pause for a split second, almost guilty--but Motosuwa's accusations were still ringing in his ears. Witch. Traitor. Not me, thought Sakaki as he pulled the trigger.  
  
Click.  
  
There was no Orbo bullet, no flash of steam and pressurized ozone. Click. Click. It wasn't the firing mechanism causing the problem; it was the lack of bullets. A single bead of sweat rolled down Sakaki's face. No more bullets. The Witch was there, helpless, with blood streaming down the side of his face from the fifth bullet--but there were no more. Even as Sakaki slowly lowered his gun, a strange, almost sadistic look crept across Motosuwa's features. "What's wrong, Haruto?" he sneered. "You never were much of a strategist, were you?"  
  
Before Sakaki could react, the floor rumbled under his feet; it was all he could do to stagger back without falling over completely. Whatever emotions that had restrained the Witch before were gone now; in their place was a single, obsessive fury. The second bout knocked the gun out of his hands completely. For every step he took back, the Witch took a step forward. For every fumbled attempt to move aside, the Witch nearly brought him to his knees with the Craft. And although the Orbo burned green at his chest, it provided him no sanctuary; the tables had been turned so far they were performing back handsprings.  
  
Something metal jabbed at his back. Sakaki glanced behind him--and saw the guardrails for the platform. There was no more room to back up. If he did, it would be a long drop to an electrocution on the train rails. Sensing that victory was near, the Witch grinned at his would-be Hunter with sadistic glee. "Traitor," he whispered. "Murderer."  
  
Sakaki's heartbeat hammered in his ears. "Hunters aren't murderers," he retorted with as much energy as he could muster. "We don't kill anyone."  
  
"Fate can be worse than death." Motosuwa slashed his arm at the floor; Sakaki felt the familiar rumble of power coursing up through his feet until it jarred all the bones in his body. Behind him, the metal of the guardrail rattled dangerously. "Do you wanna know what happened after you betrayed us?"  
  
"I don't know what you're talking about!" The young rookie gripped at the handrail tightly, so tight that his skin felt like a balloon being stretched over caltrops. "I think I'd remember something like that, dammit!"  
  
Another wave of the Craft sent Sakaki sprawling against the metal railing. The entire structure reeled under him, but held for the time being; he was safe for a few seconds at least. "They Hunted us," came Motosuwa's voice, low and dark and dangerous. "Every last one of us. Someone ratted us out." A low trembling began under the rookie's feet. "Traitor."  
  
The rumbling intensified; Sakaki could feel struts breaking beneath him, but he could not have moved even if he wanted to.  
  
"Murderer."  
  
A piercing creak echoed through the train station as rusty metal began to screech against tile.  
  
Motosuwa paused, then spat: "Hunter."  
  
With a scream of scraping metal, the entire guardrail suddenly swung out from Sakaki entirely. The constant barrage of telekinesis from the Witch had caused one side of the railing to detach completely, leaving the other half to support both the weight of the metal and the Hunter that clung desperately to it. As he swung out into empty space, the Hunter felt as though his heart was dropping right out of his chest. His left hand, fortunately, had a firm grip on the railing; his plaster cast, however, scraped and slid against the slick metal.  
  
Once again, Motosuwa was watching him, watching him struggle and writhe like a bug on a pin. With supreme and irritating delicacy, the Witch laid a hand on the near end of the guardrail. "Need help, traitor?" The vibrations that Sakaki now felt were only a dim echo; most of the Witch's power was directed at the fragile joints binding the railing to the platform. One rivet popped, causing Sakaki's end of the metal to sag dangerously. "At least death is easier than being Hunted," he continued.  
  
Another rivet popped; the Hunter's grip faltered and he found himself skidding for a few terrifying seconds. If he looked down, he could see his legs dangling over those electrified rails, the electrified rails that contained enough current to kill a man ten times over. And that was assuming he survived the fifty-foot drop. "What the hell do you /want/?" he asked for the second time that day.  
  
Motosuwa's voice was as pitiless as the Craft he controlled. "You," he whispered. "Dead."  
  
======  
  
**A/N: How's /that/ for a cliffhanger, eh? ;)  
  
Thanks for bearing with the slow/short chapters, everyone. Hopefully this ginormus akshun chapter will make up for all that. As always, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed and to extend my special thanks to those who review every chapter. (And then review my other WHR fics too. You know who you are, and you have my eternal 3).  
  
Since Author's Notes are starting to get pretty long (and not getting any shorter!), I've decided to move them to the end of the fic rather than the beginning. If you'd prefer the old format, then I would suggest you let me know; otherwise, all notes will go on the bottom. It's just easier that way for me and for those of you who don't like watching authors rant. :)  
  
Madam Midnight (Simpson-Girl): Unfortunately, no sequel is planned as of now. It'd just be too difficult to fit a second story in between episodes 13 and 14. Heck, fitting in Telekinetic is stretching it a bit already. But I am planning to write a post-series fic eventually. Not as good(?) as a direct sequel, but at least it'll be something, right?  
  
Kathryn Anne: Thank you. Those are really encouraging words to hear, let me tell you. Hopefully I won't let you down in later chapters. :)  
  
Angel Spirit: So you thought chapter 3 had a cliffhanger, eh? Eheheheh. . .  
  
DarkenedSakura: Thank you for the concrit. You're right; it was a confusing line. Thanks for pointing that out for me. :)  
  
Kaitourei: Glad you're enjoying the fic, even if you had to sit through the scary!Zaizen chapter. I won't tell you whether you're correct in your story questions, though. In the words of some famous author or another. . .that would be telling. ;)**


	6. Chapter 5: Labyrinth, Part II

**Disclaimer: I neither own nor pretend to own WHR. It belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and possibly the Sci-Fi Channel. I would love to own a Sakaki plushie, however. If only, if only. . .  
  
Telekinetic now has a title page! Much, much lurve to my friend Ryu, who drew it for me. The image can be found here (just type in type slashes where I've put hyphens): hemachandra.net-files-sakakitele.gif**  
  
======  
  
_Three hundred and twenty years have passed  
  
Since the Coven sank in the dark.  
  
Flame.  
  
A cage of electricity.  
  
A fallen comrade.  
  
Revelation begins with blistering cacophony._  
  
**Chapter 5: Labyrinth, Part II**  
  
Click. Click. Click.  
  
Each step echoed down the hallway, each step precise and measured without being slow. Click. In that second, he passed a doorway. A quick glance-- nothing. It was merely a room, a safe hiding place in a firefight but not much use at the moment. Click. Up ahead, there were sprinklers built into the ceiling and a fire alarm set into the wall nearby. If necessary, it could provide an excellent diversion. Click. His gun rested at his side, but the hand that clasped it was hardly relaxed. It would take precisely 1.3 seconds to raise the weapon and fire. He knew. He'd counted. Click.  
  
Amon was on the Hunt.  
  
The rustling of skirts informed him that Robin was present as well. Even before he spared her a glance, he knew what he would see--wide eyes framed by wire spectacles, a slim and black-clothed body, and a tongue of flame that hovered centimeters above her pale head. As the glance became a long look, the girl slowly turned her head. "Amon?" she asked, her voice as smooth and unruffled as her calm expression.  
  
He was staring and he knew it. But it was his duty--to stare, to watch, and to ward. The meeting with Zaizen was still clear in his mind. "What?" he said at length.  
  
In response, the girl seemed to shrink into the shadows somewhat, her head bowing low before him. "I thought you wanted to say something," she murmured. Although she hid it well, Amon could see her looking at him from the corners of her eyes. Innocent eyes. Bright, sparkling eyes.  
  
With a mental shake, the Hunter returned his gaze to the hallway. "No," he said coldly. As he walked, he could feel the anti-Witch bullets biting into his chest. Twelve bullets; no more, no less. It would only take one to kill, especially with someone as delicate as Robin. For a moment, an image swam before his eyes: Robin, staring up at him with those doe's eyes. And himself? The cold hunter, standing before her as he pulled the trigger.  
  
It should have been a simple question of black or white. Either he fulfilled his duty or he abandoned it. But the world was awash in shades of gray tonight, from her pale fire to the glinting purity in her eyes. Again, he focused his attention forward; there were escalators ahead. The emergency beacons flared brightly in the darkness, causing a second shadow to protrude from his form.  
  
Beside him, Robin paused. As he looked back at her, Amon saw that her hands were clasped tightly front of her waist, almost clinging to her skirt. "Amon," she said. The words escaped her lips in a breathless whisper. "Amon." Another soft repetition. Her eyes focused pleadingly, almost helplessly. Even as they locked gazes, the fire above her head wavered slightly and sent a ripple through the halo of firelight.  
  
This time, the Hunter turned completely so that he was now facing her. "Robin," he stated. It was not an admonishment, but the name settled heavily on her shoulders all the same. "What do you want?"  
  
Her gaze remained steady. "I. . ." began the slim fireCrafter, "I. . .want to know something." A pause. The wire-framed glasses almost twinkled in the firelight.  
  
In response, Amon did nothing. Only his eyes moved, their flint-gray gaze observing every move she made. "Am I a fallen angel?" Robin's words came in a rush of syllables. For a moment, her gaze was almost painful, scorching its way deep into his mind. "The Inquisitor," she continued when he still gave her no reply. "And I want to know."  
  
It was a rare moment of childishness, Amon realized. For the briefest of moments, he caught a glimpse of her fifteen-year-old-self--but it disappeared almost instantly, replaced by her usual mature calm. "A fallen angel," he repeated. The term was, of course, familiar. It was not a lack of comprehension that caused him to stare. Rather, those eyes tugged at him, that face and that frame. That smooth countenance that seemed so childish at times, and yet so mature at others. Robin.  
  
Before either of them could speak again, a loud crackle sounded in Amon's ears. "Amon? Robin?" It was Michael, although his voice wavered in and out of existence. "Sorry--there's some interference. Can you hear me?"  
  
One gloved hand adjusted his headset. "Yes," Amon replied. At the corner of his vision, he could see Robin still staring at him, still waiting for an answer. "Interference?" Michael's interruption was. . .almost a relief. It returned his mind to comfortable black and white.  
  
"Yeah," returned the boyish-voiced hacker. "Something about the construction of this place." The distant tap of a keyboard echoed. "I gotta switch channels to talk with you. And there's whole dead zones farther in."  
  
"Fine." Amon had begun walking again, allowing the emergency escalator lights to guide him. A few paces behind, Robin still stood silently; an entire moment passed before the ring of firelight returned. Emotions. He could not let his emotions cloud his thinking. Since Michael hadn't said anything more, Amon tapped his headpiece. "Michael?"  
  
For a moment, there was more static; then the voice emerged much clearer than it had the first time. "Sorry," said the hacker. "Whole thing went out for a minute there." Pause. "I think I got it now."  
  
By now, both Amon and Robin stood at the foot of the escalators. Almost on cue, Robin's flame disappeared; it left stark gray light in its wake. "Do you have the Witch's location?" asked the male Hunter. Robin continued to wait patiently by his side, her head bowed and her hands clasped firmly against her dress. Was she still waiting for an answer? All the training and awareness in the world could not give him an answer.  
  
Michael's voice was crisp and clear. "Not yet." More typing filtered in via the headset. "I'd head up those escalators though. Miss Karasuma and the others should be--"  
  
A gut-wrenching crash ruptured the darkness. In 1.3 seconds, the gun was out and ready to fire--but there was no need for it. There was a faint yelp, and the distant sound of Michael talking, but nothing else. "Michael?" Amon tapped at his headphones with one hand. Nothing. "Michael?" he repeated, a grim frown spreading across his face. Still nothing. Something was wrong.  
  
With his gun still at the ready, Amon stepped onto the escalator. If something came at them, a higher vantage point would be critical. Another step. The air seemed dead; only the sounds of Robin's breathing interrupted the silence. As he took a third step, however, something caught his eye. Marks? With one eye still watching the top of the escalator, the Hunter slowly knelt and pressed one hand to the smooth metal. Marks? Now that he was closer, Amon realized he was wrong--these were /runes/.  
  
Robin's fire suddenly blazed into existence, casting another row of shadows against the escalator steps. "Amon," she breathed. Although the name was directed at him, her attention was somewhere else entirely. Amon got to his feet, long leather coat whirling about his frame. On the next floor up, a lone figure stood waiting for them. Amon's eyes narrowed. Six feet four, he estimated, with the build of a football player. If it came to a contest of brute force, Amon would be sorely tested. As the Witch turned, however, the light revealed that one black sleeve hung limp. The Witch was missing his right arm.  
  
Even as Amon raised his gun, the escalator steps gave a sudden jolt. One hand grabbed hastily at the railing--then jerked back just as hastily. Electricity. The entire room was full of it, almost shuddering as a fresh wave rolled through. Behind him, Robin gasped. The runes, which had been barely visible before, now sparked to life. "Thurisaz," whispered the fireCrafter. She too was staring, her eyes wide with terror and fascination. "And Algiz. Power and watchfulness. Amon, it's a--"  
  
It was a trap. He should have known it would be. Bolts of electricity hung in the air, growing larger and closer together by the second. By now, the cage was practically impenetrable; gaps that had been six feet by six feet were shrinking rapidly. And to top it all off, the escalator suddenly jerked into life, sending both Hunter and Craft-user hurtling forward.  
  
Pain. As his body touched electricity, a jolt of pain rushed through him. It only lasted a brief second, however; Robin's fire blossomed up the steps of the escalator, devouring runes and Craft alike. "It's not working," she whispered. The fire had only burnt a brief breathing space. A split second was enough to repair the damage she'd caused.  
  
But that was all the time they needed. The escalator continued its mad ascent, but Amon turned to Robin rather than face the trap. "Robin," he said, his voice calm despite the circumstances. "When I tell you, use your Craft."  
  
Wordlessly, Robin nodded. Whatever questions she had, whatever doubts, it was clear that she trusted him. "Hold on," came his second order. Even as he spoke, a second wave of electricity rolled over him; he bent forward in pain but managed to keep steady. No weakness. Weakness would be the death of them both. Instead of speaking, the girl leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck. It was clear from the look in her eyes how worried she was, but that was hardly the only emotion he saw. Her eyes were gleaming with determination.  
  
"Now," he commanded. And with that, Amon leapt high into the air. Flames blossomed all around them; he had the briefest image of plummeting through a curtain of fire. Then he landed, both feet scraping hard against the escalator railing. Sparks showered his feet as he slid, but he kept steady. By now, Robin had caught on to what he was doing; the fire shifted forward, parting the sea of electricity with roaring flame--  
  
And they were through. Amon landed with the grace of a cat, black coat billowing out behind him as he stopped. For a moment, Robin remained pressed against him. She breathed raggedly, with her heart beating a strange accompaniment against his chest. They remained that way for three long seconds; it was only after Amon disentangled her arms from his neck that she let him go. "Amon," murmured the girl.  
  
Amon, however, only turned back towards the escalator. As he looked up for the second time, he saw that the escalators were normal once again. Even the Witch was gone, although the sound of footsteps told Amon that he was already fleeing the scene. Dammit. There was no way to get up those escalators short of growing wings and flying. They would have to meet up with Karasuma's team.  
  
Almost on cue, Karasuma's voice crackled in his headset. "--ell him we need back up."  
  
"Already done." Amon frowned; Michael's voice sounded considerably frustrated by now. "I think. Damn communications system isn't--"  
  
"Michael." Despite how close he and Robin had been to death, Amon kept his words cold and his tone calm. "Give me an update."  
  
In response, Michael gave a long sigh. "Not good. Haruto's off playing hero somewhere, but I can't reach him on the communicator." There was a brief interlude of typing noises. "Got one Witch's location, but I don't know if the other--"  
  
Amon interrupted him. "He's on the second floor, possibly heading your way." There was a rustle behind him; the Hunter turned to see Robin getting to her feet. Good. She was uninjured, then.  
  
"Well," remarked the hacker, "that makes things easier."  
  
This time, it was Karasuma that broke in. "We need extra help breaking down this door. It's located about sixty meters west of the north escalators."  
  
"Right. We're on our way." Without waiting for a response, Amon began walking down the hallway. Flame sputtered into existence a moment later, followed by Robin's soft approach. She seemed. . .quieter this time around. Not prone to asking impulsive questions, for which Amon felt vaguely grateful. No, this time it was his own mind that was questioning; was she really a fallen angel? Had she, as Zaizen said, truly realized her Rapture?  
  
As he let his gaze drift towards her, Amon realized how much of him wanted to say no. It was funny, really. All his life, Amon had been only one thing--a Hunter. A cold, logical, loyal Hunter. And yet here was this simple little girl, the lone glitch in his thoughts. Even now, his gaze trailed across her hair, her fire, and those softly guileless eyes. /No,/ he thought. There was a Witch to catch. There was a Hunt to finish. She had seven days to prove herself to him--no more, no less.  
  
And so he walked onwards, a clip of bullets biting deep into his heart.  
  
======  
  
Quiet. It was far too quiet.  
  
After the conversation with Amon, Karasuma Miho had returned her attention to the doors. She'd heard a crash, a gunshot--and then silence. And when it came to Sakaki, no news was considerably worse than bad news. "Do you think he's alright?" asked Doujima, echoing Karasuma's thoughts. The blond was now leaning against the door, her nails drumming lightly against the dull metal.  
  
It took a moment to assemble a reply. "I don't know," Karasuma murmured. She wanted to trust Sakaki, she really did, but his recklessness, coupled with an unusual amount of bad luck, left him vulnerable even on an easy Hunt. I should have ordered him to stay behind, she thought. I should have ordered him to stay behind.  
  
Something flickered at the edge of her vision. Karasuma looked up--and there were Robin and Amon, their forms silhouetted by firelight. "Where's the Witch?" asked Amon, his voice as smooth and deadly as it always was.  
  
Doujima rolled her eyes. "Behind door number one, where else?" Although the blond's tone was joking, Karasuma could see how nervous Doujima actually was. She's worried too, Karasuma thought. She's hiding it, but she's worried too.  
  
Her own worry loomed in Karasuma's mind, but thinking about it wasn't going to help matters. "Michael's got the doors locked down," she explained. "And they're too heavy to force open." Not that it had stopped them from trying; her shoulder still ached from that attempt.  
  
A low sigh echoed in her headset. "I've still got five minutes to go on that," replied Michael. "Better just break it down."  
  
Before anyone else could react, the door suddenly became a blazing inferno. Both Karasuma and Doujima jumped back; it was not a good idea to stand between Robin and her Craft. "Hey!" yelped the blond. "Watch it!"  
  
Robin's voice was soft. "Sorry," whispered the girl. Even as she spoke, one of the doors collapsed forward with a loud crash; the fire had incinerated both hinges and locks. Out of the corner of her eye, Karasuma noticed Amon's frown. He had noted the incident as well.  
  
When he spoke, however, his tone was as detached as it always was. "Doujima, stay and cover this door. Michael, keep in contact as best you can. Robin, Karasuma--"he flicked a gaze towards them "--let's go." Amon did not even wait for the metal to cool; he walked through the open doorway with his usual nonchalance.  
  
"Good luck," said Michael. "I'll keep in touch."  
  
Once it was safe to proceed, both Craft-users followed the Hunter, Karasuma with her gun and Robin with glasses firmly in place. At first, it was difficult to see anything. Florescent lights were much brighter than firelight, and so her eyes took time to adjust. And once she could see again. . .the room appeared to be empty. Nothing ahead of them save another (presumably) locked door, and nothing to the left--  
  
Karasuma froze. Motosuwa Keisuke was turned away from them, clearly focused on something else. And if she looked at just the right angle, she could see what it was. Sakaki.  
  
"Sakaki?" echoed Robin, her green eyes widening in surprise. Metal groaned; only one rivet remained now, supporting both the thin aluminum railing and one unlucky Hunter. So this was what he had gotten himself into. One traitorous corner of Karasuma's mind gave a mental sigh. Of /course/ he had to screw things up. There was no other way with that rookie.  
  
In the meantime, though, Motosuwa had turned to face them. Something about the boy was clearly not right. Between the blood that now drenched the side of his face and the insane hatred that bubbled below his countenance. . .he looked like he had lost it completely. Two gunshots, then a burst of flame; both Amon and Robin were earning their keep. Unfortunately, Motosuwa had just enough wits about him to roll to one side. The bullets came close, but in the end both shattered against the opposite wall.  
  
More fire raced along the floor, and this time Motosuwa cried out in pain. For a moment, Karasuma thought the Witch was dead. However, this was quickly proven wrong as Craft rolled over her, Robin and Amon, and--  
  
Metal scraped against metal; the last of the rivets was dying a painful death. No more time for thinking, Karasuma realized. After quickly holstering her gun, the Hunter outright sprinted--thanked God that she'd worn flats rather than heels today--and all but threw herself at the collapsing metal. She was almost too late. Sakaki was completely out of range, but Karasuma managed to snag the guardrail itself before it fell too far. Once more, she was lucky; if the metal had been anything but aluminum, two Hunters would be falling to their deaths right now.  
  
Still, the weight of Hunter and metal combined jerked her forward. For one terrifying second, Karasuma was falling as well. Then one hand caught one of the other, still functioning guardrails, halting both hers and Sakaki's motion. That /hurt/, she thought. The sudden jerks had practically dislocated her shoulder. Though light for his age, Sakaki could do nothing except continue to hang there, his face strained and pale. "K-karasuma," he said once he realized he wasn't going to die just yet. "What's--"  
  
A soft but intense rumble rattled her feet. If she spared a glance to her right, Karasuma could see Amon and Robin battling the Witch. "Sakaki," murmured the Hunter. "Can you pull yourself up?" Her palms were sweating heavily inside her gloves.  
  
He struggled for a moment, his legs kicking wildly in midair. "Trying. . .not working . .dammit," came a muttered response. Although his left hand gripped the railing tightly, the other hand was hindered by this clunky white cast. Even if it didn't keep banging against the metal, Sakaki obviously couldn't put much weight on it.  
  
Which meant she'd have to do all the work herself. After taking a moment to readjust her grip, Karasuma began to drag the entire railing backwards, metal and Hunter and all. At first, she thought she wouldn't be able to do it. Sweat poured down her face; her shoes ground so hard into the floor they left scrape marks. But it worked. Inch by weary inch, Karasuma dragged her partner out of danger and onto sturdy ground once more. Sakaki rolled stiffly to one side the moment he was safe, for which Karasuma was grateful. She pried her hands from the metal and let it fall, sans one Hunter, into darkness.  
  
The sounds of doors suddenly blasting open caused them both to turn. Behind them, the Hunt had continued--Motosuwa had taken another bullet and was now unconscious--but the other Witch had appeared in the opposite doorway, a shower of electricity sparking in his wake. "Dammit," muttered her brown-haired partner, "how many of them are there?" Though trembling and pale, the rookie seemed to be undamaged save for a dark bruise on his forehead. The kid was rattled, but somehow Karasuma doubted that nearly dying had been the cause.  
  
As she got slowly to her feet, the Hunter could sense an odd. . .tingling in the air. Her already-messy hair was standing on end, and her hands (once she had removed her gloves) prickled from psychic energy. "One more, at least," she replied. Karasuma drew her Orbo gun--and then noticed strange markings on both the floors and walls. Had those been here before?  
  
"They're the same runes," murmured Robin, her voice barely audible at this distance. Although Karasuma did not know what the fireCrafter was referring to, she did sense a psychic burst surrounding both the Witch and his runes.  
  
Her first reaction was to ready her Orbo gun, but it seemed that Amon had a better idea. "Robin," he commanded. "Burn them. Now." The marks were ridiculously bright by now, and Karasuma could see a net of electricity materializing in midair. Without another word, Robin spun--and the room was a blazing inferno. For a moment, the runes flared brightly; then, in a rush of roaring heat, each one disintegrated. The electricity, which had been so potent a few seconds ago, vanished entirely. Lights flickered on in the hallway, and she could see a puzzled Doujima talking to Michael about this new development.  
  
With his powers nullified, the second Witch began to stagger. A low growl issued from his lips, but no words could be heard. He shuffled towards the form of his fallen brother, almost as if he was going to protect the boy from Amon. But Amon wasn't going to show any mercy; both of them were Witches, and both of them had used their Crafts to kill. They deserved nothing save a quick Orbo bullet and a trip to the Factory.  
  
Sakaki moaned and pressed a hand to his forehead. Worry flared instantly in Karasuma's mind, followed by the realization that she could feel something /else/ emanating from this place. Another Craft? That wasn't possible, was it? "Sakaki," murmured the red-haired Hunter, "what's wrong?"  
  
In response, the rookie shook his head. "Don't. . .don't know," he whispered hoarsely. Although it was difficult to see in the bright light, his orbo burned green at his chest. "Don't know," repeated the rookie, now shaking his head back and forth. Psychic energy spiked almost painfully in her hands, tearing mercilessly at her consciousness. Sakaki? she thought. Screws were hailing everywhere, forming long lines that crisscrossed the entire room.  
  
And then all hell broke loose. Rafter after rafter crashed to the floor. One shuddered dangerously above Robin's head, but she incinerated it long before it hit the ground. All around them, pieces of metal were hailing with a deadly fury; it was difficult to concentrate on anything besides this spontaneous disruption. Out of the corner of her eye, Karasuma could see the Witch cradling his brother in one arm; when she looked again, both of them had disappeared completely.  
  
Slowly but surely, the dust settled. "What the hell?" came Michael's voice, seemingly strident now that there was nothing interfering with reception. It seemed the runes had been spelled for silence as well. "Amon, what's going on?"  
  
Sakaki looked exhausted as a bead of sweat rolled off his face. As she stared at him, Karasuma could feel the psychic energy receding. No, it couldn't be. Sakaki didn't possess a Craft. . .did he? "We're coming back," came Amon's voice. "There isn't anything more we can do here."  
  
Moving as slowly as she could, Karasuma knelt next to her partner. "Sakaki," she said. "Sakaki, look at me." The words were gentle, almost coaxing. "Sakaki."  
  
"What about the Witches?" asked Michael, almost frustrated-sounding. "Should I call in the Factory?"  
  
"No. This Hunt is a failure." If Karasuma looked past Sakaki, she could see Amon wading through the metal wreckage and helping Robin to do the same. Her partner hadn't moved yet, save to shake his head again.  
  
"A failure?" Michael sounded incredulous.  
  
"Yes," replied Amon, his dark form now proceeding quickly towards the door. Karasuma thought she caught him glancing back at Robin, but it was so quick she wasn't sure it had actually happened.  
  
Beside her, Sakaki had stopped shaking his head and had finally looked up. Again, she noted the bruise on his forehead, the Orbo that still shone brightly around his neck. Even he seemed to notice its presence, as one hand fumbling absently at the pendant. "Sakaki," she repeated. "Are you alright?"  
  
His face turned towards her, his blue-gray eyes locking with her hazel ones. "Fine," he muttered. "Doing fine." But he wasn't fine; his expression communicated the exact opposite. She saw exhaustion, strain, confusion--and one more. One that she had never seen on his face before, and had never expected to see at all.  
  
Fear.  
  
======  
  
**A/N: It's been a while, hasn't it? Don't worry, I haven't given up on this story. It's just taken much longer to write than I expected. My humble apologies. And while this isn't an entirely cliffhanger-free chapter. . .well, at least Sakaki's alive, yes? ;)  
  
Anyway, thank you so much for sticking with me. It's been a rough couple of months on this side as well. This chapter is dedicated to my beta, Alliora, who's been with me every step of the way on this chapter. Couldn't have done it without you. I'd also like to thank everyone who've been cheering on my writing efforts. Without your help, this chapter probably would never have been written.  
  
Also, quick apologies to those of you who got several Author Alert emails. I went back and revised all my chapters so that A/N's are at the end (and bolded) now. My apologies if I've flooded any inboxes.  
  
Onto some reviewer responses:  
  
Madam-Midnight (and this is in response to both reviews, heh): Weeeeell, this doesn't count as updating soon, but at least it's an update, right? Ironically enough, I was working on Chapter 5 already when you left that review on my haiku. I would have emailed you to tell you that, but you don't have your email listed on your profile. Oh well. Thank you for your steadfast support.  
  
Misora: He's not quite finished with the bind-making yet, I'm afraid. And not so much Doujima this time around, but. . .will the AmonxRobin-ness work instead? ;)  
  
Dha-Gal: Nice to see you too, sis. Poke me and make me read your fics sometime, okay?  
  
Angel-Spirit: ::laughs:: Sorry, sorry. I do have a thing for cliffies, yes. They're supremely fun to write, you know. Hopefully this one isn't as bad, though.  
  
Thank you to everyone who reviewed and, as always, I always lurve getting new ones. I swear the next update won't take quite so long.  
  
--Manny PenPen**


	7. Interlude II: Watchdog

**Disclaimer: WHR belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sci Fi Channel. I would say something witty here, but I think I've run out of witty things to say. Damn.**  
  
======  
  
**Interlude II: Watchdog**  
  
The worst part about rain, he decided, was that it was wet. Tanaka Shinji, the guard and groundskeeper for Raven's Flat, settled himself more or less comfortably in his usual seat. Yes, it was quite wet in here. Although there was supposedly a waterproof screen that kept the rain from blowing in, Tanaka had yet to see it in action. And so, rather than sit out and get soaked, he had opted for a quick cofee break. There was little to guard anyway, save the elevator and an old computer terminal. Besides, the terminal was locked away in a side room; there were times when even he forgot about it.  
  
The storm outside continued, although it had lost much of its intensity. Tanaka sipped his coffee. _Hmmm_, he thought. Save a coaster and small array of office supplies, his desk was decidedly empty. _Where did I put it?_ The absence of his usual magazine was slightly depressing. It wasn't like he never talked to anyone--he greeted each member of the STN-J at least twice a day--but greeting wasn't the same as _talking_. The guard sighed. He'd checked the box for "likes working with people" on his application. And he'd specifically asked about getting a receptionist position. When he did talk to strangers, they were usually the tall, dark, and uninvited sort.  
  
As he turned to check one of the desk drawers, a scrap of pink caught the corner of his vision. Ahah! It had been hiding in a corner all along, the silly thing. Miraculously enough, it was mostly dry; only the cover had been damaged. "Sorry," he murmured to the smiling girl on the cover. "I forgot to take you with me." The girl did not reply. For a magazine cover, she was rather inarticulate. "At least the Hunters will be back soon, yes?" he continued, turning his gaze from the magazine to the stormy world outside. "They've been out for a while. Must have been a difficult Hunt."  
  
The girl on the magazine continued to smile sweetly. Save for the sounds of rain and a vague shuffling noise, the gateroom was quite silent. Tanaka sighed again. "No use moping about it," he thought aloud. With a deft, practiced motion, the guard flipped to the center of the magazine. His favorite section: horoscopes. "Virgo," he murmured. The rain seemed to have let up a bit, but the shuffling noise was now accompanied by the click of a keyboard. Huh. That was odd. "Enjoy your brief spotlight. One of your colleagues will become relatively absent. If you are not careful, you may get a visit form an uninvited guest."  
  
An uninvited guest. Tanaka glanced around the room, almost hopeful. The last guest he had encountered had been Robin, and she had turned out to be one of the nicest girls he had ever met. Even when she was not present, her Vespa usually was; he'd spent countless hours tuning it up for her, especially after the incident in the Walled City. In fact, it was here now. Its polished metal frame rested gently against the side wall.   
  
Tanaka blinked, frowned, then looked again. Nothing wrong with the Vespa or the wall...but the door set into said wall was swinging gently in the breeze. "That's odd," the guard thought aloud. After placing his magazine in a desk drawer, he got slowly to his feet and begain approaching that side doorway. It should have been locked, he knew. It had been locked; he'd made sure of that before going up for coffee. And once he got close enough to see clearly, Tanaka saw that he was right--he _had_ locked it. Trouble was, that lock was now in a million disassembled pieces on the floor.  
  
Even as he stooped to examine the broken lock, the sounds of shuffling and typing grew louder. Clearly, the noises weren't his imagination. "Hello?" he called, getting to his feet as he did so. "Is someone there?"  
  
Something moved. At a corner of the small room, one computer screen glowed eerily. But the thing that caught his attention was the person standing in front of it, a gawky silhouette against the glare. "Hey!" he yelled. "What are you doing in here?"  
  
The shadow remained frozen; only the soft shuffle of papers being printed interrupted the silence. "Didn't you hear me?" repeated the guard, trying to appear intimidating and important. Finally, something to _do_... "Only STN-J personel are allowed back here." He made a shooing motion with his hands.  
  
But the shadow would not be shooed. Instead, it grabbed the stack of papers from the printer and then turned to face him. "Move," it said, and Tanaka realized that he was talking to a young woman. Even as she spoke, something shuddered behind him. Tanaka whirled--just in time to see ceiling tiles rip from their sockets and come flying at him. He cried out in surprise. Tiles whizzed by his head, missed--he got the impression she wasn't even aiming for him--and shattered against the opposite wall. _Good god_, he thought. _What was that?_  
  
Before he could gather his wits, she was past him, running down the the short hallway and out into the reception area. "Hey!" he shouted again. Although he was no slowpoke himself, she was quickly getting out of range. "_Hey!_" As a last ditch attempt at stopping her, Tanaka leapt forward and managed to take her down with a flying tackle.   
  
Papers flew everywhere; the girl met ground with a muffled yelp. "G-get off!" she wheezed. When he did not release his hold, she raised a hand as if to ward him off--and he felt himself being shoved backwards. The guard skidded a short distance before stopping. By then, she had picked herself up and was regathering the papers with the help of her telekinesis. Those papers had to be important, Tanaka realized. Moving as quickly as he could, he snagged several before she even realized what he was doing.  
  
They faced each other for one split second, her eyes glaring pointedly at the papers he had managed to grab. Tanaka held his ground, however. This brown-haired telekinetic had gotten past him once. She wasn't going to do so again. For a second more, she paused, clearly making a decision about something. Then she turned and fled as fast as she could, sprinting headlong into the storm.  
  
He'd have to do something about this. Probably call Amon, or Kosaka, or someone. But before he did that, Tanaka shuffled through the pages that he had managed to retrieve. Maps of the areas around Raven's Flat, a list of Seeds in their prefecture, sewer records, Hunter addresses, electricity bills. . .it made no sense. None of it did. Rubbing his head in confusion, the guard settled back in his seat. Kosaka would know what to do. Tanaka would get his head bitten off, but that came with the territory.  
  
A few seconds after he'd dialed the number, Kosaka's voice sounded in his ears. "Hello?" A brief pause, then a muffled shout: "Hattori, where's my tea?"  
  
"Chief," said the guard. How was he going to explain this? As he thought, his gaze strayed to the drawer where his horoscope magazine rested. "There was an uninvited guest, and. . ."  
  
======  
  
**A/N: Once more, notes are going to be short due to the fact this is an Interlude. I just want to give a huge thank you to everyone who's stuck with the story this far. Updates should be regular from now on (assuming the muses cooperate, anyway). And next chapter...Author's Notes are going to be a little different. Just figured I'd give you the heads-up. :)  
  
--Manny PenPen**


	8. Chapter 6: The Looking Glass

**Disclaimer: WHR belongs to Bandai, Sunrise, and the Sci Fi Channel. At one time, I considered haiku-ing this disclaimer thing, but it's got too many damn syllables. Curse you, silly companies. ::shakes a fist::**  
  
======  
  
_Three hundred and twenty years have passed  
  
Since the Coven sank in the dark.  
  
Nightmare.  
  
A split existence.  
  
Voices in the darkness.  
  
Amidst the scheming of fate, the straightest path is not always the simplest._  
  
**Chapter 6: The Looking Glass**  
  
Tokyo was a city that never slept. Not even the subway rested any more; the midnight train was just as bustling and busy as the one at noon. Sakaki Haruto stood quietly, his left arm crooked awkwardly through one of the holding rings. It _ached_ under all that plaster. Between the Witch's Craft and his own carelessness, he had probably injured it further; there were already long chips and scratches in the plaster itself.  
  
He looked at it via its reflection in the window, allowing his gaze to absorb the pink lettering that Robin and Doujima had so lovingly provided. _Guwaishi pesuto?_ he thought as he looked again at Robin's handwriting. _Something like that._ A long chip bisected the first word, transforming guarisci into something that looked like guai instead. Either way, the message was incomprehensible.  
  
And his head still hurt. It hurt worse than anything right now, even his arm. He must have caught a fever, or an illness, or something; the burning sensation that had plagued him during the Hunt had not abated. If anything, it had grown exponentially over the past few hours. It kept..._cycling_. Yes. That was the word for it. No matter what he did, the sensation kept repeating and repeating, growing stronger with each repetition.   
  
Sakaki shifted uncomfortably. The world felt slick and tenuous around him; it was difficult to maintain his grip as the subway lurched back and forth. Even as he strained to keep his concentration, he could feel that familiar pressure building up in his head, a strange mix of wind and fire that screamed to be let out. _Don't_, he thought desperately. _Don'tdon'tdon't--_  
  
Lights flickered suddenly, and Sakaki realized that the train had arrived. Overhead, the ceiling rivets were straining in their joints; something was pulling at them with a good deal of force. _God dammit_, he thought. _Stop doing that_. They seemed to obey him for the moment, although many of them still strained in their sockets. And dammit, the headache wasn't letting up. With a muttered apology to the other passengers, the Hunter pushed his way out of the subway.  
  
And then he was standing, quite suddenly, outside. The sky shone clear and cold, with a full moon framed against the darkness of the night. _Where...?_ Something crackled painfully in his ears. Instinctively, he reached up to tap the headset on his left...but there was nothing. The other side felt clear as well; he was not wearing any Hunter equipment at all. And yet the crackle came again. "Haruto?" Michael's voice. It was weak and faint, but it was Michael's voice. "Haruto, come in!"  
  
"You're sounding kinda fuzzy." It was Sakaki's voice. _His_ voice, dammit. But the problem was that he wasn't saying anything. "I think there's something wrong with the equipment." This wasn't making any sense at all. As another wave of pain assaulted his head, Sakaki was forced to lean heavily on one of the alleyway walls. Even that did not feel stable. The solid brick seemed to warp under his weight.  
  
He could hear Michael again, although the hacker's voice sounded distant and strained. "Haruto, I think you're on the wrong channel." Pause. Around the corner, footsteps pelted loudly against pavement. Sakaki could almost feel the blood rushing in his ears, the jolting rhythm of running at full speed. "Hey! Haruto!" Even as Michael's voice faded out, Sakaki could see that someone was turning the corner. Brown hair, indigo-gray eyes--it was Sakaki Haruto.  
  
The other Sakaki drew up short, Orbo gun clenched tightly in his left hand. For a moment, their gazes locked--or rather, Sakaki's gaze locked on the other Sakaki's face. The other Sakaki looked blindly past him, focusing on something else. Sakaki turned--but nothing was there save the back of the alley. "Hey," he said, turning once more to face his twin. "What the hell's going on here?"  
  
If the other Sakaki registered his words, there was no sign of it. Before either of them could act, something seemed to snap inside Sakaki's head. He could feel the psychic energy tearing, searing, rushing in a whirlwind of repressed force. Some rational part of him struggled against his Craft, wanting it to _stop_, but there was simply too much pressure. The energy simply slipped through his fingers.  
  
Gunshots. Orbo bullets whizzed by his head, one coming so close that he could almost feel it tearing through the air. For the first time in his life, Sakaki was grateful for his bad luck with a gun. But good luck alone wasn't going to save him. Already the other Sakaki had his arm raised for a second shot. With a muttered curse, he bolted around the corner of the alley and into an adjoining one. But that didn't help matters either; the path split but there were no escape routes. God dammit, this place was a maze.   
  
Another turn, another alleyway. Right turn, left turn, everything is moving too fast for him to see. His heartbeat sounds far too loud in his ears, and his breath seems to choke him every chance it gets. And behind it all, that pressure just keeps building, _cycling_, moving just as fast as the world around him. Panic is not some abstract emotion; it digs deeply into his chest, chewing at his heart with its horrible little teeth--  
  
He crashes headlong into Karasuma. She is standing there in the STN-J office, staring at Sakaki with soft pity. Silently, she shakes her head, but her hand is extended towards him. Sakaki wants to take it. Sakaki wants to reach out and take it and stand up again. But the screws are falling from the ceiling. They are falling and showering and Sakaki knows what comes next. _Karasuma!_ he wants to say. Sakaki wants to scream. He wants to say and yell and scream but is not supposed to.  
  
"Shh, Haruto." That is what she says to him. But he is not in the STN-J any more. And she is not Karasuma, either--she is there for a moment and then she is gone, and Haruto is running again. Behind him, there are footsteps and lots of people. They are there because he is not quiet and they can't hide any more. Someone is a traitor. And now Haruto is running more, running into an alleyway and seeing the wall that looms high above him. Gunshots. Haruto ducks to one side, falls--his hand hurts. Glass-sharp-cuts-hand-blood. Inside him, there is pressure again, and this time Haruto lets it come. It is rushing down the alleyway but they have something new, something green and sparkling--  
  
Sakaki slumps back against the wall. The chloroform tastes horrible in his mouth and he tries not to choke. As he struggles to stay awake, he can see Robin stooping next to him. She is concerned about him. She is always concerned about him. "Don't worry about me," he gasps. If he talks, it is hard to breathe. "Just don't let those guys get away." She nods; Robin knows what to do, and she will do it.  
  
Robin is helping him again. Sakaki claws at his head, trying to get the bad-scary-horrible things out. He did not wear his Orbo today, he forgets it sometimes--and Robin helps him. She places her hands on his head so gently. If she can feel the fear, she does not say so. But he feels it trickling away and is much better, so much better. Robin. She is comfort, Sakaki remembers...  
  
Karasuma is on the left side, driving, and he is sitting down. With the communicator in hand, he is listening to her talk about things and he is talking back. "...it all comes down to him," he says. Karasuma is nodding, yes. The car drives quickly and the road moves by in a blur. "Whether you end up becoming the Hunter...or the Hunted." He remembers now. If Masuda Shiro passes the test, they will have a Hunter. And Solomon will do anything to get a Hunter. "That kinda bothers me," he says slowly. Karasuma does not say anything at all, but they are here, so it does not matter any more.  
  
It is the Walled City again. His hand-hurt bleeds and bleeds, so Haruto clutches it to his chest. Power does not work on them. The green sparkles too bright. For a few seconds, it is everywhere, blinding and burning and floating all at once. And then they are too close, black shadows coming closer until he is surrounded, Haruto is surrounded he knows, and this is not working, but there is no way out even though he struggles and the shadows move again until there is blinding pain in his shoulder and neck and head and arm. _Karasuma!_ STN-J again, holding out her hand and he wants to take it but the left hand is so blood-slippery, trying to get away and he sees it fall, tries to push it back no this isn'trightnotsupposedtohappengoddammitsomebodystop--stop--_stop_--  
  
And then he woke up.  
  
The first thing he saw was brilliant green. For one terrifying moment, Sakaki thought he was still in the dream--then he realized that he was looking at his own Orbo pendant. It hovered in front of his face, bobbing gently in time with his ragged breathing. Much like a balloon filled with helium, except that this was no balloon. Or perhaps like a kite bobbing in a steady spring breeze, or...Sakaki's mind was still numb in the wake of his nightmare.  
  
As he maneuvered himself into a sitting position, Sakaki suddenly realized that something was wrong. For one thing, he was backwards and lying on the floor to boot. Somehow, he had managed to turn himself around and roll out of bed. But the thing that was most unusual was how..._empty_ his room looked. No heaping piles of laundry, no scattered video games or baseball magazines--nothing. The Hunter stared stupidly at the scene, uncomprehending.  
  
But after a long moment of befuddlement, something else caught Sakaki's attention. Movement: there, on the ceiling. He looked up--and then froze. From video games to a secondhand dining table, every movable object in the room hung suspended in midair. Sakaki's breath caught in his throat, and he choked. _Shit._  
  
Something crashed to the floor. Startled, Sakaki whirled, only to be interrupted by another crash from the opposite end of the room. Again, he whirled, but now there were more crashes. To the right, to the left, on all sides; Sakaki could feel the motion inside his head, the topsy-turvy cacophony of shifting pressure. Instinctively, the rookie clutched at his head with his hands, half in an attempt to stop the outburst and half in desperate self-preservation. And in the middle of it all, the Orbo blazed brilliantly at his chest, brighter than he had ever seen it glow before. It _hurt_. Like it had taken a piece of his heart and twisted it so hard that it bled.  
  
Slowly but surely, the noises stopped. Even the Orbo seemed to calm, although he could still feel it burning into his chest. As he slowly uncurled himself from his self-protective position, one last item fell from the ceiling and hit him squarely on the head. It bounced, hit the floor, and skittered across the wreckage that used to be his baseball card collection. Cell phone. Sakaki was staring at his cell phone.  
  
_You have my personal code, you know._  
  
Karasuma. He had half-reached for the device when the dream-image of Karasuma flashed before his eyes. _No_, he thought stubbornly. It wasn't the dream, he thought--who cared about what dreams meant anyway?--but just the idea of going to Karasuma for help. Not when it had been _him_ screwing things up today, after Amon had all but ordered him to stay behind. Shaking his head to clear it, Sakaki got to his feet. Much to his dismay, the young Hunter found that he was trembling all over; the emergence of his Craft had affected him far more than he realized.  
  
"Stop it," he muttered. But the room held no answers, save the silent wreckage that seemed to be staring at him. Water. A glass of water would do him good. Sakaki turned his gaze to the nearby sink, which, though battered, had not been uprooted by the outburst. It took him a few seconds to pick his way across the room--broken glass and bare feet did not mix well--but he managed it all the same. Miraculously enough, everything here seemed whole. The mirror reflected both him and one remaining glass cup, which sat just in front of him.  
  
Dazed and confused as he was, it was really no surprise that he knocked the damn thing over. It moved before he could even touch it, jumping off the sink and executing a perfect kamikaze flight to the floor. God dammit. What did fate have against him today? If this wasn't the worst day of his life, he didn't want to know what could possibly top it. With a groan of frustration, Sakaki leaned forward. He'd intended to take a moment to calm down, but his hand slipped in the sink. Crack. Head met mirror, and the head won. As he stepped back with a curse and a palm pressed to his forehead, Sakaki could see that a thin crack now bisected his reflection. _Seven years,_ he thought to himself. _Great._  
  
He attempted to lean on the sink once more, but his hand refused to do anything but slide. _Good god, what 's happening to me?_ Slick and tenuous, dim and hazy--the world was anything but clear at the moment. His reflection held no answers either; it merely blinked at him with stupid exhaustion. There had been that first Witch, and then that psycho Motosuwa. At the thought of the second Witch, Sakaki curled his good hand into a fist. _What the hell was he doing?_ Between those goddamn comments about being a Witch and everything associated with it...that had been the unsettling part, not the near-death experience. He faced death every single day on the job. He could handle it. _But I'm not a Witch_, thought the Hunter. _Not a Witch._  
  
The back of his head ached. His entire head ached from the force of his Craft, but this felt different. And his hand...no, that couldn't be right, could it? The glass in the dream had not been real, had not ever been real; he couldn't remember ever hurting his hand that badly. Despite that reassurance, Sakaki found himself looking down to where his hand rested, palm down, against the sink's edge. If anything had happened...surely there would be a scar. He had good deal of them already, from a thin F-shaped one on his shoulder to a slash he'd received from his first day on the Hunt. So even if he did have something there, maybe it wouldn't mean anything...yes, that was what he told himself...  
  
Sakaki turned his hand over. Nothing. The skin was smooth and unbroken; there was no sign that it had ever been injured at all. With a long sigh, Sakaki struggled to relax. _Relax_. _Not a Witch_, he insisted stubbornly. The fractured image in the mirror scowled at him. It didn't believe him--or rather, he didn't believe himself. The Orbo continued to flicker at his chest, and he could feel it tearing at him. Was this what Witches felt like? Was this what being Hunted felt like?  
  
Slowly, almost tremblingly, the rookie turned away from his reflection and again surveyed the room. This was going to be one hell of a mess to clean up. As his gaze rested once again on his cell phone, it slowed and eventually came to a stop. _You have my personal code._ He could feel the ceiling tiles rattling above him. Whatever godforsaken Craft this was, it was not going to leave him alone. _I'd rather get a call from you than from the coroner's._ Or from the Factory.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Sakaki reached once more for the phone. It skittered away--_dammit!_--forcing him to scuttle after it like some kind of demented crab. In the end, he nearly had to tackle the damn thing in order to get a firm grip on it. _Personal code_, he thought. It took him a moment to remember the number. Once it was dialed, the Hunter pressed the cell phone to one ear. Ring. Sakaki spared a glance out the window. Lightning flashed in the distance; another rainstorm was surely on the way. A second ring, then a third. By now, more ceiling tiles were rattling; the insistent pressure on his head had was ready for another cycle.  
  
Someone picked up the phone. "...uhn? Michael?" Karasuma's voice sounded bleary and exhausted. "What's going on?" In the background, he could hear the muffled noises of someone sitting up in bed. She had probably been sleeping.  
  
"Sakaki," he replied, and then paused. How was he supposed to explain this? Above his head, the ceiling panel continued to shudder ominously. "It's Sakaki."  
  
There was silence for a moment. "...Sakaki?" she asked, almost as if she didn't believe him. More rustling, followed by a few distinctly un-Karasuma-ish mutterings. "Sakaki," she said, a note of irritation showing clearly in her voice. "Do you know what time it is?"  
  
He hadn't even thought about it. "Uhh..." A glance at his alarm clock yielded no answers. The poor thing was a pile of shattered plastic. "No."  
  
"It's three in the morning. And we have an early briefing tomorrow." By now, her tone was most definitely irritated; even the gentlest of Craft-users got bitchy after a rude awakening. "You should be asleep right now," she continued. "Why on earth--"  
  
With a loud screech, one of the ceiling panels ripped free. Sakaki jerked back, stumbled over the remains of his television, and suddenly found himself staring at the ceiling. "Dammit!" Now the back of his head hurt even worse; the floor had connected with a rather sore spot.  
  
Karasuma's voice interrupted quietly, almost apologetically. "...Sakaki? Is this an emergency?"  
  
The Hunter nodded, then remembered that she couldn't see him. "Yeah," he mumbled. His body protested any sort of movement, but he forced it to stand anyway. "It's bad."  
  
"Your Craft?"  
  
Hearing it come from her mouth and not his own addled thoughts somehow made it all the more real. Sakaki's shoulders slumped as he replied. "...yeah." A pause; the wreckage in his room was hardly cleaning itself. "It's really bad."  
  
He could almost sense her tired frustration. "...are the subways still running?"  
  
Another nod, another realization that phones did not communicate nods. "Yeah. Once every fifteen minutes." Before he'd gotten his motorcycle, the subway had been his only method of getting to and from work.  
  
Karasuma sighed softly. "All right. I'll meet you in front of my apartment building." Pause. "We'll work something out."  
  
"Right."  
  
"Be careful." And with that, the phone clicked off. Sakaki stared at it for a moment, as if doing so would summon her voice again. Whether he wanted to admit it or not...this entire deal was too much for him to handle on his own. Far too much. Moving torpidly, the rookie gathered both his wits and his clothes. Sneakers, pants, a better shirt. Might as well look as decent as he could. Even if he couldn't see what exhaustion had done to his face, he knew that he had to look like a wreck by now. It took him a moment to find his jacket--how the hell had it gotten under his futon?--but once he had done so, Sakaki was ready to leave.  
  
He stood in the doorway for a moment, taking one last glance at the place. It was going to be one hell of a job trying to clean the place up. But dammit, he wasn't going to think about that right now. Wasn't going to think about it. Sakaki stepped outside, shutting but not locking the door behind him. He'd be back soon, after all. Apartment 24 couldn't get into that much trouble in only a few hours.  
  
It was a quick journey down the stairs. Before he knew it, the Hunter was outside--and was immediately grateful that he had brought his jacket. Overhead, lightning was dancing in the clouds, followed by the distant grumble of thunder. More storms were on the way.  
  
======  
  
Algiz. Thurisaz.  
  
In the darkness of an alleyway, runes sparked and shone against the concrete sidewalk and walls. Lighting overhead--good. As an electricity Craft user, Tsukasa found that everything simply worked better when a storm was on the way. More power in the air, so to speak. And with more power came more energy, something desperately needed at the moment. Even he could not run much longer without sleep.  
  
Something rustled behind him. For a moment he was startled--but it was only his cousin, their leader. She held a faded printout sheet in front of her and was studying it carefully. Or rather, he thought she was studying it; the way her brown hair fell in front of her eyes made it difficult to tell what she was thinking. "...?" He sent her an inquiring look.  
  
"It's nothing." The paper rustled again in her hands, although this time it was not due to her movements. At first, the rain was only a drizzle, the odd heavy raindrop splattering against the pavement. After a few seconds, however, it had become a downpour; Tsukasa had to take a moment to wipe his face with one hand. "I'm just wondering if we've got the right place," she added. The computer printout she'd been holding was now a soggy mess, something no longer of use to anyone.  
  
Something else rustled. As Tsukasa turned, he caught a glimpse of someone running through the rain. Brown hair, black trench coat, and a clumsily managed cast--Haruto. It couldn't be anyone else. Between the description Keisuke had given him and what he had seen himself, Tsukasa knew he couldn't possibly be wrong.   
  
"That's him?" The young woman had seen Haruto as well.  
  
In response, Tsukasa nodded. "..." A series of quick hand gestures communicated what he had thought earlier--there could not possibly be a mistake. That was, he added with a faint smile, so long as there was only one Haruto.  
  
In response, the woman shrugged. "So long as it's a Hunter. That's all we need." She rested a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "You keep working, all right? I'm going to check on Keisuke."  
  
He nodded slowly. As much as he hated leaving his brother alone, especially when said was _injured_...this was important. Work before kinship, sometimes. As her footsteps receded, Tsukasa returned to his Craft and his runes. It had always been tricky drawing the runes with only one hand at one's disposal, but it had strengthened him in the long run. The Witch moved from the wall to the pavement, drawing one more set of runes in the mud.  
  
Algiz. Thurisaz. And Isa.  
  
======  
  
**A/N: w00t, I've actually managed to keep an update schedule. As I mentioned last chapters, A/Ns are now going to be handled much differently. Check out www . livejournal . com - community - confraria - 2302.html. Just remember to replace all those hyphens with slashes (and take out the spaces as well).**


	9. Chapter 7: When It Rains

**Disclaimer: Not mine, not for profit, not for sale. All characters are the property of Sunrise, Bandai, Sci Fi Channel, et cetera. You know the drill. Also, I'd recommend that you re-read previous chapters before this one, especially if you'd like to figure things out. Lots of important hints and clues.**

_Three hundred and twenty years have passed_

_Since the Coven sank in the dark._

_Morning._

_Cycles of Craft and memory ._

_Ambush into a gathering of truth._

_A downpour begins with a single drop._

**Chapter 7: When It Rains**

It was a dark and stormy night.

The scent of fresh-brewed coffee permeated Karasuma's apartment, bringing with it a warm alertness that she desperately needed. At four in the morning, after a late night spent researching for today's briefing...to say she was tired would be an understatement. "Sakaki," she murmured. "Sakaki, it's alright. Speak a little slower, please."

His shoulders rose and fell with the force of his breath. "Slower," he mumbled. "Right." When Sakaki had first arrived at her apartment, he had been late, tired, soaking wet-but relatively calm. Now he shivered under a thick layer of towels, his fingers digging desperately into the wood of her kitchen table. It didn't take a psychic to see his trembling shoulders, the softly stepping trepidation that had clearly snuck up on him. "Where do I start talking...?"

Moving slowly and smoothly, Karasuma poured two cups of coffee. "Yesterday's Hunt," she replied. "After we lost you." After he had lost them, really, but Karasuma refrained from saying that aloud. Instead, she simply slid into a chair, then propped both her elbows on the table. There could be no sudden movements tonight.

"Right." He clung to the mug with his good hand, took a deep breath, tried to steady himself. "He said I'm a Witch."

"A Witch?" Karasuma furrowed her brows lightly. "Ridiculous. We have Craft-users and Seeds on our team, but not…" She trailed off, frowning a bit at the very thought. "Sakaki, you're not a Witch. Just having a Craft doesn't make you one. It's losing control of your Craft that does it." As she spoke, Karasuma reached out and rested a hand on his cast.

The coffee mug rattled in his hand. "I _am_ losing it," he mumbled. "It won't stop. Just keeps getting stronger." Now the entire table rattled, causing a small vase of flowers to chatter wildly against the wood. He pressed a trembling hand to his forehead. "I can't stop it. Can't even think straight." The orbo, which had been dangling peacefully around his neck, flared a brilliant green. "D-dammit Karasuma, I can't-"

At that moment, something seemed to snap. Both coffee mugs lifted in the air for a split second, then smashed themselves against the table with startling ferocity. Porcelain exploded in a shower of white chips; the flower vase whistled past Karasuma's ear a split second later, forcing her to duck low against the table. And in the middle of it all sat Sakaki, his hands clawing so desperately at his head that she feared he might hurt himself.

"Sakaki. Sakaki, calm down." A few swift strides carried her to his side, allowed her to clasp slender fingers around his trembling ones. And when that proved to be insuffient comfort for the rookie, Karasuma took one step more. Those reassuring hands slid up to his shoulders and then along his back; she needed only to cradle his head against hers in order to complete the embrace. "Sakaki," she murmured again. "It's alright."

He shuddered against her as the last of his Craft escaped him; then, with a raspy sigh of relief, Sakaki relaxed. They huddled together in the kitchen for a moment, he gasping for air and she continuing to card her fingers through his hair. Only after his shivering had stopped did she release him, and even then she continued to keep an eye on him. "You're not losing it," she continued softly. "All Crafts are difficult at first. Even mine was."

That startled him enough to send another Craft-induced shudder through the table. "It was?" he echoed. "But yours-"

"-isn't dangerous?" Karasuma allowed her eyelids to glide shut, her expression calm and contemplative. Almost immediately, she sensed the familiar tug of her own Craft, the soft eddies and whirlpools made from the residue of human contact. A psychic signature, her teacher had called it: the lingering traces of who and what had gone before. Or, in the case of an energized situation such as this, the here and now. Sakaki's rogue Craft now distorted everything with its power, snapping and crackling and electrifying her senses. Much to her alarm, it had grown considerably in the hours since their last meeting; it writhed like an organic dynamo of energy, barely contained by his puny human frame.

"Everything is dangerous," she continued, now reaching a hand out to clasp his shoulder. Her own abilities rippled painfully as they contacted him, but she maintained her grip. "I could not control my Craft either, at first." The very thought provoked painful memories-drowning in emotions at every touch, bleeding her own with such vigor she felt lifeless by the end of the day, long scratch marks along her head and face from where she had attempted to claw out her own brain. "It's never easy. No matter what it is you're dealing with."

He shivered beneath her, and the room echoed him with a shudder. "Still feels like shit," he mumbled. As he spoke, Sakaki fumbled for the Orbo pendant around his neck, clutching it to his heart like it was the only thing keeping him sane at the moment. "Dammit, I dunno what to do."

Something flickered in Karasuma's mind-a blotch of blood-black staining his too-bright Craft-but it died as she attempted to focus on it. Something was _wrong_ here. "Sakaki?" she murmured gently. Her hand probed lower along his chest, trying to sense the blemish she'd felt a moment before. "When did you first feel your Craft manifesting?"

Another shudder, stronger this time. The dynamo spiraled inwards again and cycled wildly, spurred on to greater power by-what? "Couple days ago," he admitted, obviously reluctant to reveal how long he'd been hiding this. "Felt something under the catwalk from that one hunt. Kept me from being Hunter pizza." He cracked a thin smile even as more power shuddered through him. "Been getting worse since then," he continued. "Little bits've clumsiness. And-" At that, he paused, hesitant to admit his mistakes. "-the Hunt," he finished with a mumble. "It keeps cycling. In and out."

Cycling. That was it. Even as she focused on the concept and allowed herself to perceive the circuit of energy in Sakaki's Craft, she found the blemish-and her fingers touched smooth glass. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she allowed her eyes to flutter open again. A green vial of Orbo greeted her gaze, the liquid pulsing and writhing within its glass prison. "And when did you get this Orbo?" she continued. Something was wrong here. Something was very wrong.

He paused this time as he struggled to remember. "Not long before that. It's fresh." As Sakaki mumbled those words, his hands drifted down to pry the precious talisman out of her grasp. "Leave it alone. It-hnn-" the teenager leaned forward suddenly, his face contorted with pain, "-doesn't wanna move." At that, Sakaki managed a weak grin. "I think it likes me too much."

"Maybe. I'm still concerned." If he had received the fresh Orbo only a few days ago, and these symptoms had shown up in the time since then… "This is going to sound difficult," she continued softly, "but you should remove it. I think something's wrong."

At that, Sakaki paled. "_Remove_ it? You kidding me?" He trembled considerably, and she could see the table rattling again in preparation for another Craft spasm. "This's the only thing stopping my-" he choked on the word 'Craft,' "-stopping it from going batshit insane. I can't get control of it."

"It may be _causing_ the lack of control, Sakaki," replied Karasuma. "Tell you what. I'll swap my Orbo for yours." She removed her hand from his chest and moved instead to undo the clasp at the back of her own neck. Sparkling in the light, her Orbo dropped gently to the wood of the table and lay still.

For a moment, Sakaki seemed reluctant to do _anything_ besides sit there with his healthy arm wrapped protectively around the back of head. _Sakaki_, thought the female Hunter. _I wish I could help you more._ She longed to reach out to him again, as she had done mere moments before, but he seemed past help. And as more tremors rocked the room, she began to lose hope that he would accept her advice-

Something pinged. Instinctively, Karasuma looked up, worried that a ceiling panel had come loose, but her fears died as her gaze returned to the table. Sakaki's Orbo lay on the table next to hers, and both glowed with soft emerald light. Interestingly enough, Sakaki's was much brighter than hers despite their equal proximity to the rookie Hunter. _Definitely the Orbo_, concluded Karasuma. As for Sakaki, he tensed and shuddered from the absence of protection against his Craft; she sensed a wave of power explode outwards through the room, rattling anything not nailed to the floor.

And then, quite suddenly, it subsided. He drew in a long breath-a first breath, as of a drowning person suddenly breaking the surface of the water-and then all but collapsed in his chair. "Holy hell," he mumbled. "I think I'm gonna need more coffee."

Karasuma blinked at him, stared, looked taken aback; then, quite suddenly, she laughed. Out of all the things he could have said… "I'll make another batch. I think we're both going to need it," she replied, unable to keep a faint chuckle out of her voice. With her usual smooth grace, the female hunter gathered up the coffee mug that had not been shattered, made a mental note to sweep the floor for the other one, and carried it over to the sink. From there it was a simple matter to get the coffee maker started and to allow the musky scent of caffiene to permeate the air once again.

He seemed to be doing better. Whatever final shudder had gone through him, it had done much to clear his senses. The younger Hunter shivered mostly with cold and ordinary exhaustion now. Occasionally, more quivers of Craft rolled through him, but they had lost much of their power. It helped considerably that he had accepted her offer to swap Orbo; her pendant encircled his neck now rather than his (apparently) faulty accessory. Once he had calmed enough to be rational and the coffee was percolating nicely, Karasuma returned once again to the table. "You have a Craft, Sakaki."

A derisive snort. "Yeah. I figured that one out myself."

"No, I mean you have a _Craft_," repeated Karasuma, her words firm and insistent. "As in, it must have come from somewhere. It must have a history." She drummed her trimly manicured fingers against the table. "Have you had any outbursts like this before?"

At that, the rookie looked thoughtful. Or tired, perhaps; her eyes were beginning to fail her as her energy ran low. Even coffee wasn't much help at five in the morning. "Hell no," he replied. "Why would I? This's the first I've had to deal with the damn thing."

Karasuma sighed and massaged her temples. At least _he_ was feeling better. She, on the other hand, desperately needed some asprin. "What about your family? Did they have any abilities?" By now the coffee had almost finished, so she walked back into the kitchen to attend to it.

Meanwhile, the rookie had a puzzled expression on his face. "My family? Don't remember."

"What do you mean, 'don't remember'?" Karasuma returned to the table with two fresh mugs of coffee, placing one before Sakaki and keeping one for herself. "You don't remember if they have Crafts, or you don't remember them at all?"

He squirmed at that, as if suddenly realizing something obvious that had never quite occurred to him before. "Uhh. Not at all. Everything's kinda fuzzy more than a few years back, actually. Motorcycle accident while I was still training to be a Hunter," said Sakaki, interspersing his response with sips of coffee. "But most Hunters don't remember that far anyway, right?"

Karasuma remained silent for a long moment. "No," she murmured at last. "I don't doubt that all of us have been tinkered with at one time or another, but-" What kind of an idiot _was_ he? How did someone think that kind of memory problem was _normal_? "Sakaki, missing fifteen years of your life isn't normal. At all." Frowning with both concern and irritation, Karasuma fixed Sakaki with a steady stare. "Didn't you ever think to question that?"

Sakaki scowled. "Course not. Didn't affect anything," he retorted. It didn't take any extension of her Craft for her to realize what he was thinking; _stop treating me like I'm an idiot_ was written on Sakaki's face as clear as day. "I mean, yeah. The accident held me back. I was 'sposed to come in with Kate, but between rehab and relearning everything…"

"But you don't have anything before that?"

Another scowl. "I told you, it got wiped out. Sorry." Now that his Craft had all but stopped troubling him for the moment, Sakaki's mood had worsened considerably. Not having to deal with an emergency left them both tired, irritated, and more than a little snippy with each other. "I don't see what you're getting at," he continued. "Why's it matter?"

"Why does it-" Her utter frustration choked anything else she might have said. "_Sakaki. _Having that sort of gap should be cause for concern. Especially considering everything that's been happening lately."

Finally (and fortunately-her patience was beginning to wear thin), recognition dawned in his face. "I…haven't had time to think about it," he mumbled, one hand reaching automatically to rub at his head. "I've been kinda distracted, okay?" he snapped irritably.

Karasuma bristled. "I'm only trying to help you," she retorted. "You called me and asked for it." _And you need it_, she added mentally. Between the stress from his outbursts and his ill-tempered exhaustion, the young hunter was in bad shape indeed-and so was she for having to put up with him. All the same, she forced herself to become gentle again, to slide back into the role of comforter he so obviously needed at this point. "I understand you're having a bad day," murmured the Hunter. "But you need to calm down and think about this. Stop acting-"

"-like an idiot?"

"So impulsively," amended Karasuma. "Though," she couldn't help but snipe a little herself, "you're doing that too."

Now it was his turn to bristle. "So that's all you think I am? An idiot who just keeps messing things up?" As his voice rose, the table rattled; Sakaki gripped his coffee mug with the same intensity as he had just minutes before. Except this time, it was out of ordinary human exasperation.

"No, Sakaki." Maintaining her own calm was all but impossible now. "I don't think you're an idiot," she said, reaching out to touch his hand with hers. As their skin made contact, a rush of emotions nearly overwhelmed her-fear, anger, unhappiness, uncertainty, plus that strange adrenal energy that was Sakaki's emotional signature-but she held her ground. "I think you need help and I _know_ you need time to think through this. That's it."

He remained silent for several moments. And because she had nothing further to say, Karasuma did as well; there were only the sounds of the storm lashing against the windows and the faint tick of a distant clock to break this oppressive calm. Sakaki's face remained troubled, angry, and the emotions pooling in his hands filtered into hers as well. This was not the way she would have liked to spend her morning.

Quite suddenly, her cell phone rang. The two of them jumped in their seats, Karasuma quickly retracting her hand and Sakaki managing to bounce his cast painfully against the back of his chair. She fumbled in her breast pocket for her phone, eventually pulling out to where she could get a better look at it. Michael. Of course. "Hello?"

Sure enough, Michael's voice crackled over the communicator. "Hey Karasuma," he said amiably, though she could hear him yawning in between words. "Sorry to wake you up."

"You didn't." Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Sakaki squirming uncomfortably in his seat. "I assume you have a reason for calling me?"

"Yeah. Amon's calling an early meeting today. It's an emergency. Can you get in here by six?" He sounded almost apologetic about all of this.

"Six is fine. I'll be there." Pause, another glance at Sakaki. "Are you calling all of us this morning?"

"Pretty much. I've still got Haruto and Doujima left to call. Why?"

"I'll tell Sakaki," she responded. "So don't worry about it." She had a few more things to say to the rookie before he left tonight.

When Michael spoke again, he seemed pleasantly surprised at her offer. "Thanks. Helps me out a bunch, really. See ya at work." And with that, the conversation ended.

Which left her and Sakaki alone once again. "What was that about?" asked Sakaki, his brows furrowed both from leftover anger and confusion. "What are you gonna tell me?"

"We're having a meeting," explained Karasuma, getting slowly to her feet as she spoke. The coffee mugs she gathered in one hand; a second trip to the kitchen sink quickly disposed of them. Her movements were sluggish, however, as her mind moved all too quickly. There was something she had to do even if Sakaki would hate her for doing it.

For the moment, however, he was quite oblivious. Indeed, his spirits lifted at the possibility of going to work early-she almost envied that kind of naïve enthusiasm-and he made his way to the door so as to kneel and put his sneakers back on. "Great," he said. "I'm feeling good enough to take on a couple Witches with my bare hands-"

"You should stay home today."

Sakaki froze. As she watched his shoulders stiffen and his body tense, Karasuma fought back a twinge of guilt; she hated seeing him all crumpled like that, his face dark and his spirit crushed. "I'm sorry," she continued, drawing closer to to the young Hunter. "You're tired. And your Craft is still flaring up. It could get out of control again." Especially if Orbo really was the cause, she thought. Her dosage would be just as aggravating as his, right?

When he resumed tying his shoes, his motions were jerky and agitated, to the point where one of his shoelaces actually broke as he struggled with it. "You _a__re_ saying I'm a moron," he muttered. "The village idiot who can't manage anything without a babysitter."

Damn it all, he was making things difficult. "No, I'm not," she repeated firmly. "I think you're quite capable. But not like this." Karasuma knelt beside her partner and settled her hand on his shoulder.

"So I'm just an invalid now," he retorted, shrugging away her gesture of friendship. "I'm not weak. I was having some trouble today but I'm fine now."

Despite his strong words, however, the teen was trembling with barely restrained exhaustion, and Karasuma knew it. To allow him to go on another Hunt today would be to condemn him to death; he'd come close enough to it today already. And if the Witches didn't get him… A cold current ran through her veins at the thought of having to Hunt down her own partner. "Sakaki." Pause. "_Haruto_. I need you to listen to me." She was almost pleading with him now. "I'm only trying to help you. Look," she continued, almost at the end of her patience by now, "if you stay home today, you can come back to work tomorrow. No questions asked."

Sakaki remained silent for a long while. "I'm not weak," he muttered. "I can take care of myself." With that, he all but glared up at her with his indigo-gray eyes. "Are you ordering me off the Hunt?"

They locked gazes for several long seconds, her tired yet firm expression countering his fearful defiance. How many times had she wished she had just ordered him to stay behind? How much less trauma would he have faced if she had actually listened to herself yesterday? It was a mistake she could not make twice, no matter how much it would hurt her partner. "Yes," she murmured softly. "I'm ordering you."

It was as if she had killed him. Clearly, he hadn't been expecting her to actually go through with the order; he stared up at her with his mouth agape before sliding back into sullen unhappiness. "Yes ma'am," muttered Sakaki. He stuttered to his feet in trembling, jerky movements, wrapping his coat awkwardly about his shoulders without giving her so much as a backward glance. "I'll be going then."

Somewhere high above them, a bolt of lightning thundered through the sky-and Karasuma remembered, belatedly, the raging thunderstorm that had been pounding against the apartment all morning. "Let me drive you, at least," she said. "It's pouring out there."

Wrong thing to say. Once again, the rookie stiffened uncomfortably, frozen by his own pride. "I'm not that weak," he muttered. "I can handle a little rain, dammit." Without waiting for her reply, he strode irritably out into the hallway and all but slammed the door behind him.

She stared at the door for a moment, almost unable to comprehend what had just happened. Well, fine. They were both tired and grumpy-they'd likely have fought on the way over anyway. "Best to leave it here," she said to herself, though her tone betrayed the otherwise confident words. With a quiet sigh, she returned to the kitchen table in search of her car keys.

And then she noticed the Orbo once again, its glimmering green a strange contrast with the wood. _Michael will know what to do with it_, she thought as she turned the vial over in her hands. _We'll get this scanned and see what's wrong_. It seemed normal, as far as she could tell; any unusual behavior had stopped once Sakaki removed the pendant. Almost automatically, she slid into her usual Craft trance she employed when scrying, now searching the vial for any indications of what might be wrong.

But there was nothing. The most she could get was a faint sense of _Haruto_, both within and without the tiny glass vial. Indeed, the fact that she could sense that was unusual, as most Orbo would block even the slightest psychic residue. _It's just weak_, she concluded. _He was having a bad time and a little bad luck too_.

As the clock chimed 5:30 AM, she had gathered all her supplies; by 5:40, she was gone.

Tokyo was a city that never slept. Not even the subway rested anymore; the midnight train was just as bustling and busy as the one at noon. Sakaki Haruto stood quietly, his right arm crooked awkwardly through one of the holding rings. It _ached_ under all that plaster. Between the Witch's Craft and his own carelessness, he had probably injured it further; there were already long chips and scratches in the plaster itself.

He looked at it via its reflection in the window, allowing his gaze to absorb the pink lettering that Robin and Doujima had so lovingly provided. _Guwaishi pesuto?_ he thought as he looked again at Robin's handwriting. _Something like that._ A long chip bisected the first word, transforming guarisci into something that looked like guai instead. Either way, the message was-

_Waitaminute._

With a mental jerk, Sakaki fought back the overwhelming sense of déjà vu that had just assaulted him. _The dream_, he thought wearily. _That goddamn dream_. It was just enough of a coincidence to make him shiver where he stood. Fortunately for him, very few people opted to take the subway at 5:30 in the morning, and fewer still were awake enough to notice his discomfort. He'd be glad to get home and enjoy some real rest-

No. He _wasn't_ glad, he reminded himself. How could he be when Karasuma didn't believe in him any more? Despite the more rational part of his brain telling him that hey, it was most likely concern that had driven her to do this, the overwhelming majority threatened to drown him with one single and painful statement. Karasuma didn't believe in him. And that hurt far more than he was willing to admit.

The subway screeched to a halt. He exited the car mechanically, his feet finding the way with very little input from his brain. At least one part was significantly different from his dream-he wasn't fighting his Craft for control any more. If anything, the cycling shudders had been lessening with each circuit, quelled by both the clean Orbo about his neck and the lack of…well, whatever had been driving it before. It still remained awake and alive within him, but it did not dominate his senses.

And for that Sakaki was grateful. It seemed to be the only bright spot in this early morning darkness. As soon as he stepped out of the subway station, he was greeted by a veritable wall of water-a violent downpour that had been continuing for two hours already and showed no signs of letting up. "Great," he grumbled. "Just what I need." He took off running through the rain-slicked streets, his hair slopping messily around his face and his cast bouncing painfully against his chest. Within seconds, he was utterly soaked.

Damn it all. The rain did nothing to improve his foul mood, save to give him the vaguest satisfaction of seeing his angst mirrored by the weather. He stumbled through the maelstrom of wind and water, occasionally so blinded by the storm that he had to duck into a doorway and clear his vision. "Should've taken her offer," he mumbled after he'd spent ten minutes playing at this game. "So goddamn wet." As lightning flashed across the sky, he risked another glance out into the veritable hurricane-and thank god, there was his apartment complex just up ahead. Not that much farther left to go.

Using his trenchcoat as a shield, the young Hunter plunged once again into the rain. It was all he could do to focus on taking one step at a time; his position made it difficult to see much at all, especially anything directly in front of him. Sakaki rounded the final corner to his apartment building, passed a long alleyway-

He never saw it coming. Someone's hand grabbed him by the front of his jacket, lifted him bodily-and then the world flew by in a haze of wetness and wind. By the time he realized that, hey, he was in the _air_ and there was the _wall_ coming up, and holyshitOW that was his head ringing hard against concrete. Dizzily, he looked up only to discover that he was now wedged uncomfortably between two trashcans.

And a huge figure now glowered over him. A vaguely familiar figure. "The hell?" he gasped, getting slowly to his feet. His feet slid beneath him, threatening to dump him right back into a mud puddle. "What was that for?"

The figure did not answer him. Instead, it reached out with one massive arm (the _only_ massive arm, Sakaki realized; the other was merely a stump) and lifted him into the air. Rain blistered his face as his collar tightened inexorably, and he found himself fighting for every breath of air he could squeeze into his lungs. "Lemme…down…" he gasped, now fighting a wave of power that surged in the back of his head. Unlike his outbursts from this afternoon, however, they no longer burned with feverish intensity; the power felt clearer somehow, bright and flickering like a bolt of untapped lightning-

Apotheosis.

There was no other word for it. His consciousness seemed to balloon outwards, touching each individual raindrop and sensing, somehow, an intricate network between them. Somewhere above him, a broken lamp swung back and forth in the storm, as equally connected as the raindrops. And deep beneath his shirt, a single drop of blood stained the fibers of his shirt. All interwoven. All interconnected. And if he pushed just _so_, a ripple of energy spread outwards with a rush of breathless wind.

All this occurred in the space of a split second. A loud crack echoed in the alleyway, and then he was flying backwards once again-but so was his attacker, and Sakaki knew he'd much rather take another hit to the head than be choked to death. Fortunately for him, he'd landed near the exit to the alleyway. His boots slid dangerously in the mud, nearly sending him right back down again, but he managed to support himself against the wall via his cast. _Got to…get out of here…_ he thought, mentally winded by the use of his Craft. _Out…of here…_

CRACK.

Just as he reached the exit, runes flickered into life and sent a barrier of pure electricity across the alley. Whatever good luck had triggered his Craft failed him now; he stumbled and fell headlong into the electrified force field. "Holy-ahh!" Pain forced him onto his knees, and for a moment he forgot the driving rain in favor of simply crouching in the mud. Ow. Sonuva_bitch_.

"Careful there," came a new voice. Female? Sakaki looked up-and saw what he could have sworn was a distorted reflection of himself. Brown hair: check. Gawky, clumsy frame: check. If not for the breasts (and he was pretty damn sure he hadn't changed gender in the past two seconds), they might have been identical. Which meant-one of many not-so-comfortable things, he was certain. If only his electricity-fried brain would stop spazzing out on him.

Even as he huddled and tried to beat his brain into submission, the woman approached him. She lifted his chin with one hand, staring firmly at him; then, quite unceremoniously, she dropped him. Back into the mud he went. "Haruto," she said. "I thought so. We're sorry to do this to you, we really are."

"…" It seemed the taller Witch disagreed with the girl. He fixed the Hunter with a sharp glare, his one hand clenching into a fist. Even his fuzzy observation skills could pick up on _that_ gesture.

The female Witch sighed. "Maybe not. But we don't intend to kill you, at least. Won't you cooperate with us?" she continued, extending one hand towards him.

"C-cooperate? No way." He slid away from her-right into the field again, god damn it-and crumpled once more against the ground. By now his thoughts felt fuzzy and unfocused, barely capable of making any coherent decisions. _Karasuma_._ Help. Pain. Karasuma, please_. His thoughts sank into the ground like water. _Need…help. Karasuma. Karasuma._ Clumsily, Sakaki managed to reach into his coat pocket and drew out his cell phone. _Personal code-dammit, what's her personal code-_

The world whirled again. His legs dangled and his face turned up towards the rain once more. "No cooperation?" continued the voice. "Really sorry, then. Knock him out."

His head met concrete once again. Light flared behind his eyelids and more pain jolted through his body-but the worst part was the fact that he could no longer maintain his grip on anything, and thus could only watch as his cell phone tumbled into the mud. Orbo-flaring in his face as another hit rocked his skull-supposed to be helping him-

Mud. In his face, along his arm that stretched in futility. Cell phone just fingertips away. Him struggling to reach, dammit, but it fell away from him, fell down as a rough hand pulled him up and settled him down again. Too high in the air. Rain prickling the back of his neck, cast bouncing lightly in time with someone's stride. Being carried? _No_, he managed. _Kidnapped. Holy hell, I'm being kidnapped_.

Copper in his mouth. Someone wiping at it for him, fixing him with her indigo-gray eyes. "Really sorry," she said again. Swaying, moving-the alley falling behind. And beyond that he thought he saw Karasuma's car, passing by his apartment on the way to work. "We'll make it up to you," continued the voice. Heavy, distant. As if falling asleep. And then-a light touch, like affection. "Welcome back, brother."

Darkness.

**_END OF PART ONE_**

**A/N: Bet you thought I'd never update again, eh? Well, I know it's taken me plenty long enough. Least it's worth the wait, yes? Hopefully. Anyhoo, I'm sure a lot of you are wondering what that "End of Part One" thing means. Basically? Not much at all. I'll continue to post at this location with new chapters, so you don't have to move your bookmarks or your Author Alerts. But this does mark the end of an arc, so to speak. I envision this story as being a three episode OAV type deal, with seven (give or take) chapters in each "episode." Hence this chapter marks the end of "Episode One." Good? Great.**

**Also, since this marks the end of the first episode…if you leave your email address in a review for this chapter, I promise that I will email you back with answers to any questions, comments on ideas, or even just a simple thank you for you taking the time to review. So ask away! As long as you haven't uncovered a spoiler, I'll definitely clue you in on what's going on.**

**Finally, I'd like to give a big THANK YOU to all of those who reviewed even during this huge hiatus. Nothing rekindles my creative spirit like a good, critical review on a fic I thought that everyone had forgotten. (Tylec Asroc, I'm lookin' at you.) Trust me, your encouragement has not fallen upon deaf ears. (Or blind eyes, I suppose would be the better epithet.)**

**Anyway, that's all the babbling I want to do right now. If you'd like to read extended A/N, either check out my LJ (zinthos) or the nummy WHR fic comm (confraria) over on I'll be posting more specific links later, but for now, teh LJ is teh place to be. **

**Once again, thank you for all the support and reviews you have given me. And-this is going to sound shallow, but-I'm incredibly excited to see how close to the one hundred mark this fic is in terms of reviews. So I'm going to offer a kiriban drabble to whoever posts review numbah one hundred. Pick a pairing/character, situation, anything, and I shall write you a one hundred word drabble about it.**

**Until next update,**

**Manny PenPen**


	10. Chapter 8: Without Leave

**Telekinetic: Part Two**

_Three hundred and twenty years have passed_

_Since the Coven sank in the dark._

_Daybreak._

_Absences unnoticed._

_Threads of existence gathering together._

_A calm precipitates the second half of the storm._

**Chapter 8: Without Leave**

It wasn't really morning. The sun had risen somewhere, Michael was sure of that, but the thick barrier of clouds outside allowed only the vaguest glint of sunrise to shine through. Not that it mattered much to him anyway. Michael had learned to measure time not by his sporadic sleeping cycles but rather by coffee breaks and lunches taken at midnight. Sunrise was merely a formality.

In fact, he was going to need a nap soon enough. But what he really needed now was some of that coffee. That settled, he approached the metal-and-glass demigoddess, offering up bean libations in exchange for her morning blessing. "'Morning, Michael.' 'What are you doing up so late, Michael?' 'Damn, Michael, you've really gotta stop working your butt off every once in a while.'" He mumbled the English words to himself rather absently, focusing instead on prepping the machine.

He had to admit that the Hunts were beginning to wear on him lately. Between the fiasco yesterday (in which he had to listen to Kosaka apologize to Zaizen so many different ways that he was beginning to wonder if Kosaka hadn't actually been trying to flirt with his superior) and the mind-numbing task of sorting through historical data that followed, Michael very much looked forward to getting a good nap today. Preferably one that involved more than three hours of sleep at a time. Heck, if he didn't get one soon, he might just fall asleep without any permission at all.

The raging thunderstorm from that morning had faded into a soft summer shower, for which he was grateful. There was no way a mere storm could take out _his_ computer systems, of course, but thunderstorms were never all that helpful when it came to electronics. After filling his mug from the pot, he stared down into the sienna liquid, watching the reflection of raindrops on glass that seemed to hover just below the liquid's surface. "Been a while since I've seen rain up close, huh," he said. "Maybe I can sneak sticking my head out the window later." Yeah, _that_ sure didn't sound pathetic.

Hypothetical pathetic-ness of the computer nerd aside, the case they were working on _was_ rather interesting. Michael resettled himself at the computer, coffee mug set in what was seemingly the only spot not covered by paperwork or trash. With that done, he hunched himself comfortably and let his fingers do the rest. _Motosuwa._ On the surface, there had been a surprisingly ample amount of information available. Apparently there were several branches of the family, though few of them were marked as being active Seed bloodlines. Along the ones that _had_ been marked, there were at least five active Witches, two of which being the duo they'd fought yesterday. Basic stats were all there. He'd half expected to find their favorite colors and hobbies listed as well.

The catch was that they were all legally dead.

Michael stretched, leaning back far enough to stare at the rain-spattered windows above him. He'd had a helluva time last night while poking around for additional information. Tsukasa and Keisuke were easy enough to pull up, but the moment he skipped to a different branch the going got surprisingly difficult. Even for him. In the end, he'd just been left with a trio of names--names of Witches who had supposedly been Hunted within mere days of each other--and little else. Motosuwa Hanako, Hunted. Motosuwa Haruka, also Hunted. Motosuwa Haruto, dead. And not even a picture to mark their passing.

It was all very complicated, and not in the way that he liked it. Even all his efforts last night had turned up nothing but documents referring to the test projects surrounding Orbo, and he'd already cracked that secret ages ago. Not that there'd been much point in that. What was he going to do, tell his team that Orbo was really Soylent Green? He'd much rather keep his skinny hacker ass un-corpsified for the moment. And at least he never had to touch the stuff.

As if summoned by his thoughts, a shadow suddenly loomed over him. He had about a split second to register the sudden backwards dip the chair had taken; then he was an awkward pile of limbs and paperwork on the floor. "Karasuma, ah--"

The older woman chuckled tiredly. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't realize you were so deep in thought."

"Wouldn't call it thinking," he returned, pulling himself up into a kneeling position. With one hand, he began regathering the documents that were now spread haphazardly all over the floor. "You beat Amon here. That's kinda amazing, y'know."

In response, she lifted delicate fingers to massage her temples. "I was already awake when you called," she said. "It's been a little stressful lately."

"Kinda guessed." Karasuma always looked far too old for her nineteen years of age, though that was normally due to her professional-cut clothes and level demeanor. Today, however, her expression seemed distant, her clothes slightly mussed, and her hair frizzled even under the outline of her hairpins. "Coffee's fresh over there." Dammit, it would take most of the rest of the day to sort through the paperwork that had fallen. For neither the first nor the last time, Michael considered being more organized.

"I'm fine, thanks," said Karasuma. "I'll just need to rest later."

Then she paused unexpectedly, as if mulling something over in her mind. Michael stopped as well, eyes blinking behind his amber glasses. "Something up?"

She didn't answer him at first. In fact, she seemed quite content to focus on righting the chair that he'd knocked over moments before. "I'd like to ask a favor of you, actually." As she spoke, Karasuma drew a slim envelope out of her lavender jacket and held it out to him. "I need this analyzed. Quietly, if possible." A frown darkened her face. "I think something's wrong here."

Michael took the packet, felt the cross-like shape with his fingers before reaching inside. And then he blinked again. "Orbo?" The vial glittered dully in his hands, but otherwise looked the same as any other Orbo necklace he'd ever seen. "You looking for something in particular?"

"I'm not sure." She stared absently at his computer screen, the names reflected bright in her gray eyes. "But I'm fairly sure it was causing Sakaki some trouble. I'd like any information you can give me about it." Then she paused, eyelids flickering low. "Please."

At that, Michael lifted one eyebrow. "You worried about him?"

Karasuma allowed herself a wane smile. "Is there ever not a reason to worry?" She lingered on the chair a moment more, then withdrew in the direction of the coffee machine. "Thanks, Michael."

"No problem." The hacker glanced at the Orbo one more time. _Looks normal to me_, he thought. But if there _was_ something interesting hiding here...he'd be the first to discover it. And that, he thought to himself, was reason enough to give it a shot. Not now, though. Even as he glanced up to check the rest of the office, he spotted Amon making his silent entrance through the elevator doors. Casually, Michael slid the envelope into one of the lower drawers of his desk, beneath some well-placed photographs from a previous case.

Time to get going.

-

The "emergency" that Amon had called them all in for turned out to be something less than urgent. Or rather, that was the impression that Amon had chosen to give. He stood solemnly at the end of their usual meeting table, his stoic face illuminated by the glare of the monitors in front of him.

"Wait," said Doujima, who was idly braiding a bit of her hair. "You're saying that the reason _I_ missed out on beauty sleep is because some measly files got stolen?" She fixed Michael with a cheerfully pointed stare. "I wonder whose fault _that_ could be."

Michael adjusted his glasses with one finger. "Not mine, actually. I already explained this to the boss." The keyboard clacked comfortably beneath his other hand as he pulled up another diagram on the screen. "It was an old terminal, from back before we started using Orbo. It was supposed to have been destroyed ages ago."

Kosaka suddenly looked nervous. "Which is to say," he interrupted hastily, "it was certainly put on the schedule. There were more important things at hand, and the red tape..." The chief seemed to bow his head apologetically. "It was here before I was, you understand."

However, Zaizen seemed entirely bored with the current conversation. Michael paused as he looked at his boss, his gaze kept there by the way that Zaizen was currently eying the table. As if he were counting something...

"What files --" began Doujima and Robin suddenly, then stopped just as suddenly again. Doujima laughed and poked Robin gently in the arm. "Robin-chan is a curious little girl."

The red-haired Craft user looked much more embarrassed than curious at the moment. "It seems odd," she murmured. "It's strange to have an early meeting about nothing important."

From his position at the end of the table, Amon regarded Robin silently for a moment. He seemed to be weighing something in his head, putting a great deal of thought into his words before actually speaking them. "These," he said. Michael took the hint and pulled up a set of images for the group. Personally, he couldn't figure out what was particularly important about these documents anyway. He'd spent plenty of time looking at them last night, to very little avail. If there was anything wrong, he'd have to say it had something to do with the fact that someone had gotten documents at _all_, not the files themselves.

The rest of the group seemed similarly confused, and Michael didn't blame them. Most of the files were things that could have been easily accessed via the internet: a map of the city sewers in this area, another map of the above-ground terrain, a record of the amount of power that was used by this area every year, some miscellaneous crime reports... The only objects that had him remotely worried were the files that contained a current list of Hunters and another list with the most recent Hunts on it. The last file taken was heavily encrypted, past even his own abilities to hack into...for the moment.

It seemed, however, that the last file might just have been the important one. Even Doujima peered intently at it as it flashed across the screen. "Hey, what was that?" she said. "What kinda hacker steals gibberish?"

"Not gibberish." Karasuma spoke up for the first time that meeting. She held gloved fingers to her temples, massaging them gently. "It's more likely to be encryption."

"And it definitely wasn't a hacker," added Michael. "He got it out of the terminal normally. That's why that 'gibberish' is still showing up." He was slightly impressed by Karasuma being able to recognize its status just by looking at it. Apparently he hadn't given the Hunter enough credit for her superior experience.

Meanwhile, Doujima squinted at the file on the screen, her face a perfect mask of boredom. "Still pretty silly if you ask me," she said. "So we've got a Witch with a map fetish. Big deal." Despite her tone, however, her gaze was keen. _What's got her so interested?_

"It's unprecedented," said Amon. "And troublesome, especially considering the current situation." He gave Michael a little nod, at which the hacker clicked through his files yet again. Images of the Motosuwa family blinked up for the rest of the team to see--minus, of course, the sections that Michael had decrypted for "extra credit." That mostly left the skeletons of family trees, with the odd name blanked out.

Doujima gave a low whistle. "Okay, lots of witches. But how do we know the two are connected with our gibberish-stealer?" she asked, flipping a stray tuft of blonde hair over her shoulder.

It was Karasuma's turn to speak up, apparently, so she did. "The fact that it happened during the attack on the subway station. It's very likely that that incident was just the distraction." She had finally removed her hand from her face, but her eyes reflected only the glare of the monitors and the lingering pain of her headache. _Worried about Haruto, huh..._ thought Michael. And then, quite suddenly, he realized something. _Where was Haruto?_

The rest of the conversation faded into gibberish as he focused on that new revelation. Sure enough, once he took a moment to look around the room, he counted only six people other than himself. And Haruto wasn't one of them. Had Karasuma mentioned something about that? He frowned at his computer screen as he tried to remember the specifics of their most recent conversation. _Sakaki in trouble...Orbo doing something...definitely no mention of why he's not here_.

"Michael."

He jerked. Whoops, so much for paying attention. "Yes Boss?" he answered automatically.

"I assume you called everyone in to work today?" He had both arms crossed over his chest, but his expression seemed ... odd. Michael found himself staring at his face, trying to figure out that vaguely amused expression.

"Yeah," he said after a moment's pause. "That's right."

"And you spoke to everyone personally."

"Yes Boss. Everyone --" Except Haruto, he realized. Karasuma had insisted on calling the rookie herself. And now Haruto wasn't here, a fact which Zaizen had very clearly picked up on. Even as he paused, hesitating, the rest of the group (save Karasuma) seemed to blink and look about, looks of vague realization dawning on the faces of those who were actually capable of facial expressions. "I didn't actually speak to Haruto," he finished lamely.

"I did," said Karasuma suddenly. She sat there calmly, apathetic to the fact that she was being stared at by the rest of the group. "I had to admonish him anyway because of what happened yesterday." She folded her hands. "He's staying home for the day. Under my orders."

If anything, Zaizen's look of amusement only deepened further. _What the hell's got him smiling like that?_ "I'll trust your judgment," he said. "In any case, Amon has your orders. I leave this meeting in his hands." With that, his boss left the room. Michael watched him go for a long moment, a frown beginning to spread across his face. What the hell, what the _hell_.

-

He was still mulling the matter over after the meeting had ended. Once again, the office was emptying out; Amon and Robin had already left, and Doujima had gone out to wait for Karasuma in the car. That left Karasuma herself, pulling on a pair of gloves just behind him.

"Is he really sick?"

The words were out before he thought to stop himself. He turned in his chair, focusing intently on the older woman. She blinked at him, slowly, then gave a quiet, rattling laugh. "I'm not sure. But something's wrong." Her gaze slid towards the pile of papers where he'd hidden the Orbo pendant and she lowered her voice. "Very wrong."

A chill went up his spine. He wanted to be far away all of a sudden. "I'll look into it," he said, turning back towards his computer. He could still see her reflected in the screen if he looked at it just so. "Seeya in a bit."

She lingered for a moment more, then slowly faded out of the reflection. Now he could only see the flickering green of the data he had pulled up, plus the vague mist of rain on the windows outside. Nobody in the office ... He slipped the packet out from its hiding place and shook it, once, so that the pendant fell neatly into his hand.

It didn't _look_ special. A glance at the serial number told him nothing. The holder was old, but considering how often the liquid itself was replaced, the Orbo itself could have been made years ago or just last week. _Let's crack this baby_, he thought to himself.

The rain continued to drizzle long into the afternoon.

**-**

**A/N: Has it really been years since I updated this thing? Wow. Anyway--I want to thank everyone who reviewed even while this story was dead. (It may return to death yet. But let's hope that doesn't happen!) Special thanks to psquare for his/her especially thoughtful comments. It's mostly due to you that I even started picking this story up again, even if it's been eight months since your review.**

**If you sign in or leave an email address, I will attempt to respond to any reviews I get. Thanks again for reading!**


End file.
